Clowning Around
Right up until his last day in Townsville City Jail, the guards insisted on calling him "Mr. Mime."
That, or some other version. "Mimey." "Mimery." If they were feeling particularly clever, they might start using "Grimey," or "Slimey," especially when they hosed him down for the hell of it, or dumped soup upon his head.
They wouldn't call him Rainbow, he noticed, let alone his real name. All he was to them was just another Townsville city villain – a face on an ever-expanding roster that included monkeys, bacteria, and lobster-demon transvestites. One bad day, one bad deed, and he was suddenly no better than any of them. Yes, he'd taken colour and sound from the world, but was that really on the same level of destroying real-estate to the point that Townsville was uninsurable? Was he really so bad as to not deserve a second chance?
Apparently, the guards thought so. And civil defence lawyers were too busy defending actual criminals to worry about poor, sweet Rainbow the Clown, now forever known as Mr. Mime. Which, from what he'd heard, was also the name of a pokémon, and no, he wasn't allowed to play games in his cell to find out. The only games he was allowed to play was counting down his days in prison, and tic-tac-toe.
He gave up on that when every game against himself ended in a tie.
"Why so frowny Mimey?"
"Ain't you gonna turn that frown upside down?"
"That's a smile, not an upside-down frown."
"My hair's going grey Mimey, can't you put some colour back into it?"
"You gonna speak, Mimey?"
"Mimey?"
"Speak up Mimey."
The insults would keep coming. Smiles and upside-down frowns had gone the same way as the mayor's competence, and his lips had become as crooked as the fat-cats in city hall.
"You've got visitors, Mimey."
He'd look up in joy, every time they said that.
"Nah, just screwing with ya."
And become all the frownier.
"By the way, the Powerpuff Girls just saved the day again, or at least that's what I heard over the radio."
And even frownier still when he overheard the guards discussing the brats that had put him here.
"Over the radio? You mean the narrator who begins each broadcast with 'once again the day is saved?'"
"Yeah, that guy on CNN."
"CNN?"
"Cartoon Network News."
"Oh. Which villain did they defeat this time?"
"I dunno. Guess we'll find out when they end up here before busting out again."
He'd lie on his bed and cover his ears at this point. Here he was, the most harmless villain of them all, a man who'd brought joy to children for countless years before the accident with the bleach truck, and here these incompetents were, keeping their jobs despite their inability to keep any villain locked away.
"Sleep tight Mimey. Don't let the beg bugs bite."
He'd stuff the pillow even harder them.
"No, seriously about the bed bugs. I think they're still trying to free Roach Coach."
"In good company then?"
"Yeah, course he is. Heh. Stupid clown."
Stupid clown.
Stupid. Clown.
Stupid. Clown.
The words lingered in his mind, even as he dreamed. As he relived the events over and over again.
Him, turning the world black-and-white. Beholding the world through empty white eyes, his actions directed from a withered black heart.
One girl, then two, then three, spreading sound and colour. Singing about how love made the world go round.
Love and colour being restored to him.
His feet, carrying him forward, towards the Powerpuff Girls. His mouth, opening, so that he might speak. To thank them for releasing him from madness…
…and then a mouth that was closed, as the pink one pummelled him. Breaking his teeth. Giving him a concussion. Tossing him into a truck to be taken to Townsville City Jail. The faint crackle of the radio, announcing that once again, the day had been saved.
The dream would end with him arriving in the cell. He would wake up, and find himself surrounded by the same walls, the same bars, the same everything that had become his home All that changed was the markings on the wall, be it the number of days, or tic-tac-toe games that had gone nowhere.
The dream ended tonight, as always. But when he woke up…he knew things were different.
Red lights were on, which meant that the jail was using its backup power. And as strange a sight as that was, it was his sense of sound that gave him pause.
Gunfire. Screams. The former ending the latter.
His heart began to beat like that of a mouse, and he'd certainly seen his share of them in this squalor. The Townsville Police didn't use guns. There was no need to. No-one committed a crime in this town except super-villains, and guns were useless against them. It was unnatural. It was unthinkable. It was…
It was many things. But he could hear the sound of gunfire. All the more so when the lights went out.
Darkness. No light. No colour. Perhaps the world that Mr. Mime would have made if he hadn't been stopped. Huddled on his bed, rocking back and forth, he reminded himself that no matter what the guards might say, he wasn't Mr. Mime. He was Rainbow the Clown. Being thrown into prison didn't change any of that.
"You stupid clown!"
The guard's words reached him. It was only with a burst of gunfire that he realized that it wasn't in his mind, but rather, in the adjacent cell block. The one beyond the sliding bar door. The one that, through the gloom, he could hear being pulled open.
I'm not a criminal.
He was in prison, yes, but he wasn't like them. He wasn't bent on world domination, or world damnation, or…whatever it was that the Amoeba Boys did. He was just a guy who'd run afoul of bleach.
Don't belong here.
He could hear footsteps coming towards him. He was the only one in this cell block, but that was no guarantee that the people weren't coming for him.
Please be a guard.
The irony of such a prayer wasn't lost on him.
Please…
Nor the fact that quite a few guards were likely dead.
"Having a stroll by the cells…"
Almost certainly by the one who was singing in the gloom.
"Each step on the way down to Hell…"
His voice, echoing through the halls of the damned.. As if his song be composed by the devil himself.
"Death and despair, makes me feel so swell…"
As in, the actual devil, not the one that plagued Townsville.
"…as my madness puts fools under my spell."
But as the figure stopped walking, as his shadow lurked on the other side of the bars, as his smile appeared in the gloom, scarce different from the Cheshire Cat…
"Well?" the figure whispered.
Hell, it seemed, wasn't too bad an option now.
Especially as the red lights came back on. As he screamed, scampering backward, back against the wall, trembling. Quite content to meet the Devil himself, if it meant being taken away from the monster on the other side of the bars.
"Well?" the visitor asked. "How was my singing?"
A monster known only as the Joker. A criminal mastermind who mostly stayed in Gotham. A man who'd not only come to Townsville, but had come to his cell.
"No comment?" the Joker asked. "No pretty red rose?"
He tried to speak, but no words came out.
"Some of the audience gave me their opinions." The Joker held up a long, serrated knife, its blade covered in blood. "I'm all for constructive feedback, but some of them…well, some people are just unreasonable."
He let out a whimper. There was still sporadic gunfire going on, and he hoped…prayed…that the Powerpuff Girls would show up. That they'd turn up, kick butt, and for the love of God, take him to a maximum-security wing.
"Still no words, eh? Well, I'll wait for your written review. In the meantime…"
He sobbed as the Joker pulled out what looked like a squirt gun and fired. Not at him, but at the lock of his cell.
"…I think I'll step into your personal booth. See how the certified critics live."
He'd have loved nothing more than the Joker to use that gun on him. Instead, the man holstered his gun, and sheathed his blade. Walking into the cell and looking around it, as if he'd never been in one before.
"I must say, you're an excellent tic-tac-toe player." He chuckled. "Of course, the people at Arkham so often let me just win. Why, it's almost as if they're afraid I might do something…crazy, if I lost."
He dared look up at the Joker. A mistake, as the maniac smiled, and looked down at him.
"Do I look crazy to you?"
He shook his head.
"Really?" The clown's smile widened – red lips extended from cheek to cheek, revealing cracked, yellow teeth for the world to see. "That's so kind of you. Most people say I'm crazy, or insane, or murderous. Why, it's as if they have no sense of humour." He pulled out something small, and rectangular from his pocket, with a big red button on one side, and the mug of a grinning clown on the other. "I mean, if I ask people what happens when you combine half a tonne of C4 with a cell block, and the answer is bodies, why, people just don't laugh."
He pressed a button. The sound of an explosion rocked the cell block, along with its shockwave.
"You're not laughing either."
He wasn't. He was too busy trying not to let water come out of his eyes, and piss out of his willy.
"Aren't I funny?" The Joker squatted down in front of him. "Is my act really that bad? Or do I have to explain the joke?"
"Pl…please…"
"I mean, you are a clown, right? A wanted criminal?" The Joker chuckled. "Someone like me?"
"Pl…please…"
"Yes? Speak up sugar plum. I'm a bit hard of hearing with all the screaming."
"Pl…please…don't kill…"
"Don't kill? That's a tall order sugar plum. I mean, I guess I could not kill, but then how would I ever get Bats' attention?"
"…don't kill…me…"
The Joker stared at him.
"Please don't…kill me…"
"Kill you?" The Joker grinned. "Kill you?"
The way he threw his head back and laughed, each decibel cutting through his soul like a saw through bone…right now, dying didn't seem too bad.
"Kill you?" the Joker asked, bending over to catch his breath. "Why on Earth would I kill you, sugar plum? Why, I'm here to recruit you."
…yep, dying still seemed better.
"Joker and Rainbow, a Travelling Duo!" The Joker sat down on the bed and put his arm over his shoulders. "Come on, come all, witness the dastardly acts of partners in crime. No refunds! No second chances! Come for the show, stay for the corpses! Don't forget to tell your friends about the experience in the morgue!" He chuckled, smirking at Rainbow. "Doesn't that sound great?"
He wanted to shake his head, but he also wanted to keep it. So he said nothing.
"I agree, it doesn't have a ring to it." The Joker got to his feet again. "Still, we are two peas in a pod, so-"
"No."
The Joker looked at him. A vein in his forehead was twitching. His hand was clutching his blade. He stood there, like the Grim Reaper. His lips turned into a twisted frown. The lips as red as the blood on his knife.
"No?" the Joker whispered.
"No," he whispered. "I'm nothing like you."
The Joker stared at him…stared at him…stared at him…kept staring at him until he burst out laughing. Bending over. Clutching his stomach, as if the act of laughing at all caused him pain.
"Nothing like me!" the Joker wheezed. "Nothing like me! Oh sugar plum, that's going in the act! We'll have it as the final line! People are gonna die laughing with that one!"
The Joker continued to laugh. Maybe that was why he allowed him to get to his feet. To speak.
"No. I'm nothing like-"
The Joker slapped him. Hard enough to bruise his cheek. To send him down into his cell bed, smarting. Stripping him of his small burst of courage, nay, insanity, and reminding him of the ways of the world.
"Don't ruin the punchline, sugar plum," the Joker whispered. "Every joke has its end."
He made no move. He let the Joker take him by the throat and push him against the cell wall above his bed. He sniffed, and closed his eyes…whimpering, as he felt the blade against his neck…
"No looksies?" the Joker whispered. "Alright sugar plum, I'll spell it out to you – you're just like me."
"Like…you?"
"One bad day," the Joker whispered. "One little date with bleach, and that's all it took to send sweet Rainbow the Clown over the edge. One bad day, and you tried to take all the colour from the world. One bad day, and the world wouldn't let you forget it." He chuckled. "Am I wrong? Or are you not rotting in a cell so that the so-called civilized people can go about their pointless lives?"
Slowly, silently…he shook his head.
"I know what it's like to be put away," the Joker whispered. "Usually it's by a man dressed up as a flying rodent, but he's got friends in high places. People flying around, thinking they're better than the rest of us…" His eyes narrowed. "You know why people let some freaks fly around, or dress up as if it's Halloween?"
He shook his head.
"Because it's easy. Because they'd rather have freaks deal with freaks, so they go on with their pointless lives. Because they're afraid that they're no different from the rest of us. Because like you…that bleach could have fallen on anyone. Anyone could have fallen into that vat of chemicals. They let freaks in masks deal with the likes of us, because the schemers don't want to look in the mirror."
He had no words. And for a moment, nor did the Joker. So when the clown extended his blade, pointing the hilt towards him rather than the steel…he clasped it.
"One of my former assistants decided to fly with some birdies, so I'm in the market for a new sidekick," the Joker whispered. "Question is, can you make people laugh? Can you deliver a solid punchline? Can you deliver a joke so outrageous that people will fall down, unable to get back up because it's so funny?"
He didn't answer.
"Well? Because if not, I can still help you. I can even help you deal with those three little kindergartners who put you in here. And do you know why?"
He remained silent.
"Because love doesn't make the world go round. You know what does?" He leant forward, and whispered into his ear. "It's fear."
He took the blade, and got to his feet. Looking at the Joker. Clutching the blade, in lieu of his powers. Daring to look at the man in the gloom, and behold his reflection. Whispering, "what do two clowns like us have in common?"
"I don't know sugar plum, you tell me."
He smirked. Thinking of this town. Of its people. Of all the gags that would send heads rolling. Of a career beyond what Rainbow the Clown, or even Mister Mime, could ever dream of.
"They get the joke."
The Joker stood there, then laughed. Put an arm around his, and led him out of the cell.
"You know," the clown whispered, "I think this is the start of a beautiful friendship."
The two clowns walked through the red halls. Red, with the emergency lighting. Red, with the blood of the fallen.
Red, burning in the night, ablaze, as they rode off in a van to Gotham.
It was unlikely that once the Powerpuff Girls arrived they would get the joke, he reflected, but that didn't matter.
He had a new audience in mind.
And that, he reflected, as he changed into a suit of black and white…meant working on his act.