Joker was emptying and applying the very last of a tan foundation as they pulled up towards their chosen destination of the evening. The theatre. Caking it on until the alabaster white of his skin was no longer visible, Joker refused to leave the car until satisfied with the visage in front of him. "I look fuckin' ridiculous," he hissed, flipping the sun visor mirror, thoroughly unhappy with his common, far too regular Joe, disguise. His features, though still prominently angular, were plain, boring – even ugly – without the stark white, black eyes and vivid reds. "I can't go in like this–"
"I think ya' look pretty handsome if ya' ask me, boss," spoke Eric (previously: nameless goon) who smiled at Joker warmly from behind the wheel.
"Shut up."
Ugh! He was in far too good a mood. Ever since Joker had handed both him and his other lackey, Claus, a ticket to this damned production, Eric had been nothing but full of enthusiasm and gratitude. Joker wasn't feeling it, not even at all. Claus and Eric were lucky that they didn't need stupid disguises like this one, since they were already stupid. Already ugly, and to top it all off, complete nobodies.
He rummaged around in the glove compartment to find the final piece of his costume. To hide the last semblance of his identity with a thick, black wig, which Joker adjusted carefully, tucking back every strand of vibrant green with careful consideration. He checked himself over one last time, before exiting the car and slamming the door in a fit. They hadn't even got inside the venue, and yet his blood was already boiling.
All three men got out of the car, wearing matching black suits, expensive, but altogether unassuming. Tonight was opening night, and as much as Joker liked to make a statement, he needed to take the subtle approach in order to reach that grand finale.
"I look ready for a' open casket not a night on the town," Joker snapped. And with his plain suit and thick layer of make-up, he wasn't entirely wrong about that.
"Ya' know what they say J, you put the fun inta' tha funeral."
Old joke. Bad joke.
"Remind me, why did I bring you again?" Because I regret it.
"Cause a' this–"
Eric waddled around to the back end of the car (an expensive ride, but also boring and unassuming) opening the trunk to unveil three assorted leather cases, each shaped to hold a different musical instrument. Claus' a large double-bass, Eric's a clarinet, and finally a violin case for Joker which disguised, as much as he himself was, a prepped and loaded Thompson machine gun.
At last, Joker cracked a smile.
"That's more like it!" Joker squeezed their shoulders as they crowded around their toys, each in turn taking their instrument of choice. "We'll be making music tonight boys."
The hulking men either side of Joker chuckled, well prepared for a night of lights, cameras, most certainly, action. With their cases in tow, a spring in their step, Joker and his two acquaintances made their way towards the stage entrance, avoiding the eager, queuing public.
A bald, thoroughly disgruntled doorman, raised a brow at the three of them as they approached. Two tired eyes flitted to the cases in their hands, to their outfits, to settle on Joker's heavily applied face. "Can I help you?"
"I'm sure you can," Joker exclaimed, tapping on his "violin" and smiling widely. "We're part of the band and we're running pretty late."
"Sure you are. Show me your passes."
"Passes?" – Eric went to reach for his ticket from the inner pocket of his jacket – IDIOT! – but Joker was faster and elbowed him hard in the ribs, taking the wind right out of him.
"I must've left them back at the hotel, silly me," Joker feigned a loud and aggravated laugh above the coughing and spluttering of his lackey.
"No pass, no entry."
"Don't be ridiculous – we've gotta show to play! What will they do without us?"
The guard extended a finger and with each word, prodded at Joker's chest roughly. "No. Pass. No. Entry."
Claus was upon the doorman in a blink. For a giant, muscular specimen, he moved with swift grace, crushing and dragging the bald man's head against the wall. His whole hand swallowed the skull of the doorman, as he thrust it, over and over, into the rough brickwork behind. Upon letting go, the body slumped into a bloodied pile at their feet. He had never been a man of many words, but a man of many maneuvers. Touching the boss was a cardinal sin, and Claus was more than happy to rid him of those.
"Got anything for a headache?" Joker scoffed at the lifeless bundle, as they each, in turn, stepped over the doorman and into the building.
The place was alight with activities, people rushing to and from, barking orders, running costumes, repeating lines, that Joker and his men were able to pass through completely unnoticed. Although it was nesasary in order to get this job done, Joker didn't like the way that he blended in amongst them. He was a lion stalking the sheep, and they were all too distracted to notice. Not for long.
They didn't hang backstage, and moved quickly onward. Though he'd looked for her, Joker hadn't yet spotted the current thorn in his side, Harleen Quinzel. Just as well since he wanted to wait for that opportune moment. The moment that would compliment her star-quality (who was he kidding?! She needed all the help she could get!) and give it that extra pizzazz.
They managed to sift their way through to the proscenium. Joker being the only sleight one of the three, Claus the goliath that he was, and Eric the rotund, barrel chested man, drew far more attention than was needed, just getting through the crowds and to their seats. Joker was thankful when they finally made it up to their own private gallery above, with a fantastic view of both the stage and the audience below.
Soon all word would once again be of Joker, their clown prince, and no more of dainty, dancing Miss Quinzel. Just as it should be in his city.
Dancers were stretching and actors were at their lines, flipping frantically through worn scripts and warming up. Crew members were hurriedly dragging sets, stage, dresses and props, all blurring through the last minutes before curtains opened. Harleen watched it from the wings, sipping sweet honey and lemon, an unusually quiet bundle of nerves amidst the chaos.
She was anxious, but excited – taking a moment of calm for herself before the start of the show. She could feel it in her bones, that she was standing on the precipice. That tonight, she was going to fire off and into the stars. Harleen was going to be transformed before a real, live audience, that would love and adore her. She was sure of it. And Harleen could sense the change out there, from the low buzz of the crowd beyond the curtain. She was going to thrill the citizens of Gotham, from here on out – until her name was up in lights brighter than the batsignal.
"Harleen–"
A familiar and unwelcome voice broke her train of thought, and Harleen was bought back to the realm of reality by Peyton Riley who stood accompanied by an auburn haired gentleman, his features as handsome as Riley's were beautiful.
"Hey?"
"I just wanted to introduce you to my fiancé before we start," Peyton smiled, "he's looking forward to the show, I thought it only right that I'd bring him to see the star."
Harleen felt her cheeks flush despite herself, struggling to keep a hold of her composure. It didn't matter that it was spoken with a bitterness, the flattery remained the same.
Wait – fiancé? Harleen was honestly expecting Peyton to be latched onto the arm of the director and yet – it wasn't really surprising to think Peyton was not only rich, talented, gorgeous, she was also engaged to be married to a wealthy, chiselled man. Her cheeks weren't hot because of flattery now.
"Thomas Elliot," he jutted out a stiff hand towards her and they barely touched before breaking apart.
"Harleen… Nice ta' meet ya'."
He didn't even pretend to be Interested. "I'm here front row with a friend," he spoke matter-of-factly. "Peyton has been such a support to me the last couple of months, I can only return the favour tonight."
Riley aww'd and coo'd at his arm and Harleen's stomach twisted. She forced her widest smile none-the-less, "well ain't that somethin'."
"I'm sure she'll be just as much support for you in the months ahead."
There was nothing about Riley that spelt support for Harleen. She was a threat, acting as a friend. Peyton as her understudy was of little to no comfort at all.
"FIVE MINUTES GUYS–"
A crew member, covered head to toe in wires and walkie-talkies, ran across the stage, alerting all those who still lingered that show was soon to start. Harleen was thankful for the abrupt break to an awkward encounter, more determined than ever to cement herself as Gotham's most beloved before Riley got even a sniff of a chance at what was destined for her and her alone.
"You better get to your seat," Peyton purred at her man, "you wouldn't want to leave Bruce on his own down there, who knows what company he'll drag in."
"You're right," Elliot chuckled (even his laugh sounded callous and cold) "a typical Wayne, through and through."
And they embraced, a superficial, stagnant expression before parting ways. Harleen watched with an odd fascination as Thomas Elliot flitted off-stage and out of sight. To go sit alongside Bruce Wayne of all people. How the other half live, huh?
She didn't get much time to think about that, as more of the cast began to position themselves on stage. Though nerves coursed through her veins, Harleen was ready. Peyton could shake her, but couldn't shake the feeling that lingered in her soul. This was her time, and nothing was going to get in her way.
Peyton rushed to position, and Harleen too found her spot. The backdrop was pushed centre, and the ensemble found their place for the opening sequence. The music struck up first, bold and brilliant, big band extravaganza, and as the curtains opened, they were all blinded by the lights.
The audience was enthralled throughout, as each dance number, each song, was more captivating than the last. Harleen stole the cold hearts of the Gothamite crowd, with her animated tap-dancing, and her soft, sweet voice. She had 'em hooked. Her sequinned costumes had her lit up like a diamond, and she owned the stage as she had never done before. Like she'd been made for it.
