Own the place he did, Joker walked around the room for a couple minutes, surveying each station, eventually coming to Eva's space. He picked up one or two of her sketches for tomorrow's sessions. The sketches were benign mostly, one was just a wilting orchid for some depressed college student, and the other was the Batman logo the guy wanting it was one of those super fans who probably got kicked in the head one to many times when he went "patrolling the means streets of Gotham." Joker seemed to find that particular sketch the most enjoyable, he wasn't in hysterics but the trademark laugh was there and Eva felt hair at the back of her neck go on end. In keeping her eyes down, she noticed that her gun hadn't been taken away. This guy had no fear, he was of the utmost confidence that Eva wasn't going to risk trying anything. Still ignoring her, Joker snatched up her album of completed work. When he got to the more disturbing pieces, he nodded his approval. Holding up the album to display the photograph of a particular piece, he smiled. "Now this, this is something special."

Now that client was pretty damn memorable, said something about doing a stint in Arkham. He had this fucked up obsession with nose bleeds and he wanted the tattoo to embody that possibly sexual fixation (she didn't want to ask). Disturbing as it was, Eva liked the idea and sort of ran with it. She did a profile from the up part of the nose down, the hands were in the frame and blood was gushing from the profile's nose and the tattooed person looked to be reveling in the blood as it flowed from her nose and soaked her lips and tongue, dripping languidly into the hands. Joker nodded his approval as he went to the next page, tattooed torn up skin made to look flakey and diseased done in tasteful lace patterns, art students wanted the weirdest shit sometimes. Another nod, and Joker snapped the album shut, causing Eva to jump at the sudden sound.

Laughing, he walked up to her, giving her cheek an affectionate slap that could have knocked her down. Eva never really could pin down what death smelled like, yet somehow, Joker managed to wreaked of it. He gripped Eva's chin for a minute or two, surveying her. For a moment, her eyes danced around in terror. Another smile, and Joker extended his approval. "You'll do for what I want."

Letting her go, he walked over to the couch in the waiting area and took a seat. "Well, aren't ya gonna get your stuff so we can start?"

Eva blinked. Oh Christ, he couldn't be serious. "Start what exactly?"

Again, there was that laugh. Joker sat up and leaned forward and spoke as if trying to coax a shy 4 year old. "Well, Eva, what is it that you do?"

Silence, playing the game just meant acknowledging that she'd be forced to spend hours with this insane fuck for God knows how many sessions. "Common, Eva, sweetheart. I know you know the answer."

Sneering, she took a breath and replied. "Tattoo artist…"

He nodded. "And I wouldn't come to a tattoo artist to do a weapons deal…. Unless, that's a side business… Is it a side business because I'm always looking to…"

Joker chuckled and Eva continued to frown. "No, I'm just a tattoo artist."

Leaning back he shrugged his shoulders. "There's your answer, you're my new tattoo artist!"