Depending on the shift, the henchmen had the possibility of staying near the television, which was a real blessing. The backbreaking hours were neverending and so the small opportunity to enjoy some mindless TV programs between shifts was strongly appreciated.
The Joker demanded a televison in each new hideout, usually placed in the main hall so he could easily ogle himself in the news or be notified when a live broadcast mentioned him.
But that wasn't why he was so keen on the television.
It was Batman. When he appeared on the screen, the Joker's entire demeanor brightened considerably, eyes gleaming as he scrambled for the remote to turn up the volume. He would gradually get closer to the screen until he was uncomfortably hunched and searching the pixelated image for the Bat on top of a skyscraper.
Anyone around could see the look on his face, it was...something, something intense and so out of character that no one dared to question it. Atleast not straight to his face.
It was often rumoured that the Joker would be caught running his pale and gloveless fingers across his noir silhouette, only basking in the light from the television.
Those were just rumours anyway, right?
Despite his forever refined and elegant appearance, chaos bloomed from the ground where he walked.
However the man kept himself clean and groomed, the hideout was always consistently disgusting.
Crumbs, dust, and garbage layered the floor and stuck to the dried up piss and crusted blood. The walls were worse for wear, clawed at from drug induced fits and marred from bullet holes, scratches from blades. There was even a headshaped dent from another henchmen who pissed off the Joker too much in one day.
On some days, the stench was unbearable enough for the men to go out and buy room sprays and covering their noses with scarves or their own shirts. In the end a rickety cupcoard was made to store the scented sprays and candles. Even the clown had his own secret cupboard to stash his needs. Freshly washed and ironed suits done by Harley, Smuggled make-up, tubes of lipstick, even expensive cologne was stored in the make do wardrobe.
There was this one room though, no matter what hideout they stayed in, this room always existed.
Kept pristine and tidy by the Joker himself.
No one was allowed in this room.
Not even Harley.
On some late nights the Joker slept there, some quite days he spent hours in that room, come be known as 'The Bat-Sanctuary" by everyone around.
They men became curious and snooped around in there when boredom threatened to kill them, coming across chests of draws, wall-shelves, coffee tables, all filled with The Dark Knight merchandise.
There was no space that wasn't occupied by the idea of ressembling Batman.
They left shortly after seeing a pair of underwear with the Bat symbol on it.
Of course, nothing compared to his prized photo album, filled to the brim with grainy photographs and faded newpaper clippings.
The Joker would be ever so gentle with each photograph, shakily smoothing it down and longingly staring at each one.
He'd be able to see Batman whenever he wanted to with this album.
Notes:
This is a short chapter to jot down two ideas that were in my head ...
The third chapter is longer, definitely :)
There are several comics that prove that Joker actually owns Batman's merchandise and even statues/action-figures.
One of the many examples is "Batman: White Knight" by Sean Murphy.