They were popping up like damn horseflies!
He rubbed at his pasty white chin in thought and his wild eyes stared around in a fury. How was the Batman always getting yet another protégé when he was struggling with just the one? Now there were two of the flying rodents he had to deal with. He raked his hands through his green hair and he felt the shadow of a laugh pass along his lips. Despite his madness, the Joker always managed to impress the ladies, even if he could keep a check on his internal madness, and that internal, infernal, need to make everyone else die laughing.
It was his fault, all his fault and no matter what one he shot down there was always another to take his place?
Should he even the odds and getting a protégé himself? He let out a growl and shook his head. No, no, too easy, too simple… too Batsy. Besides, Harley was enough of a handful as it was. He glanced at her peaceful, slumbering form as his pet hyenas lounged beside her, snoring away.
Maybe another grand prank to draw all the eyes of the city? No, no… That will draw too many eyes, too many Bats. He couldn't fight them both, even with some hired goons he would easily be thwarted, but always get away. The same dance day by day, night by night. He and the Batman would keep at each other and keep their unique balance unless there was a wild card for him to play.
He flicked his wrist and a deck of cards emerged from his sleeve, landing in his palm with the stylized joker face staring at him. He grabbed the card and flipped it about his fingers, even as his other hand idly shuffled the deck. It was a small effort to do his card tricks and even a smaller effort to use them as throwing knives. The steel edge grazed his gloves, shaving off the fibers there but not drawing blood. He needed to keep his hands busy as he thought.
One of his hyenas woke up, stretching and giving a lazy yawn. The beast padded over and nudged his hand as it held the joker card. He glanced down, flipping the joker back into his sleeve with the rest of the deck before he kneeled beside him. He scratched lazily along his ears and the beast gave him a sloppy lick. He cracked a smile at that, but didn't laugh.
Sometimes even clowns were simply too tired to be funny. His madness was worn out, at least for a time, now he was just an ordinary man with pasty white skin, green hair and mad eyes. He was a man with such a dark, bloody streak that he couldn't tell which body had bled first or last. All of these thoughts were new to him, strange almost. He looked over at the briefcase of Joker Laughing Gas and felt himself cringe. No, that would kill him. Just one little dose would put him over the edge permanently, send him spiraling into such a madness that even he wouldn't be able to come back from it, even just to breathe.
He took a step closer.
But what would one little puff hurt really? He knew he would be dead. No one could help him then. Batman had tried many times but each time he answered by trying to slap him in the face with a fish, or try and break his knees with a crowbar. He managed a laugh at that. It was a small, shaking series of it but he stopped feeling the muscles in his face already twisting in his usually psychotic grin. Arkham was his home, all the villains were there now, locked away and receiving some sort of help. Some didn't want to be helped though for they knew they were too far gone. He felt he was one of those, and the only one that managed to get close enough to help him well…
He looked over at Harley again and shook his head sadly. His madness even some of the best trained couldn't crack. He removed his gloves, rubbing his worn hands together as he flipped open the case. He stared down at three great tanks of the stuff, enough to cripple a city block entirely. He'd just let the wind do the rest, but even then, would that matter? Batman had a counter for everything he had, a tool to cripple even the greatest of villains himself included.
"What can I do…" he mused, another little laugh slipped from him, "what can this clown do to make Batman finally smile?"
"Give him a push."
He stared around rapidly and pulled out the revolver he kept inside his coat pocket. The long barreled piece was used for his gun gags, but in his home it was all real bullets. He certainly wasn't a crack shot, but could probably take off an arm at a fair distance, or a head, he liked how the heads popped wetly when that happened. He shook his head again, a scowl touching at his lip. He wasn't that crazy, hearing voices? Let alone his own voice? He might as well turn the gun on himself, no one was that crazy.
"Who's there?" he hissed sharply. "Come on, answer me."
"Ah-ha-ha… Ho-ho… You know full well who I am, don't you?"
The laugh was fake, forced almost, but that was his voice. He knew it, but it sounded more guttural, angry. He never saw himself as angry. He knew he was crazy but never angry. Just his idea of fun was skewed a bit, that's all.
"I'm you, a different time, different era…" the voice crooned in his head. "a darker version of you, more… sinister."
"No, no, you're just a voice inside of my head… we all have those…"
"What about voices that do this?"
The gun in his hand suddenly turned. He had no control, or did he want to lose control for once entirely? He grasped his wrist tightly, and he was laughing all the while. It pressed against his head, the cool metal making him shiver and his traitorous thumb pulled back the hammer. He was shaking and laughing at the same time, loud enough that the other hyena stirred, even as the first was pulling on his pant leg. He saw a shadow in the corner of his hideout, tall as he was with straggly green hair, tormented eyes and a smile carved into his face. It was like staring into his funhouse mirror, only this one knew him, could control him.
"Mistah J!"
Harley grabbed his arm and pulled the gun away. He was panting loudly and loosening his tie as he rubbed a sweaty palm at his face.
"What got inta ya?"
He frowned at the question and it took him awhile to find his voice. "I don't know Harley… I…I think I'm sick."
She gave a pretty little smile and shrugged. "We're all sick Mistah J. Some like to kill the sick, others like to save the sick."
He had to agree on that. Everyone was sick, even the Bat. Though there was one major difference between him and the Dark Knight: The Bat couldn't kill. He could, The Joker could kill and it all seemed harmless.