This is the second chapter of my beloved Mistah Js alter-story. Right now I'm on a checking process of chapter III and IV. Wish me luck...
The Joker created by Bob Kane and Bill Fingers. Nora created by me.
Part II: "Happy mask night"
Cold night. Gotham City alleys. A service stairway coming right through the first floor, where trash cans, garbage and a couple of homeless gathered around behind the shadows. Two silhouettes moving faster than a cat, avoiding the spotlights as they went down the stairs. The first one, taller, grabbed the other by the wrist so it couldn't go any further. In the dark, they spoke.
- Happy Halloween- said he, in a whisper
- Happy Halloween to you- said she, in a grave tone
A kinky expression ran deeply into his face, as he brushed her lower lip with the thumb; there was a partially coagulated blood stain right where he put his finger. She showed a broad sarcastic grind as an unmistakable answer.
- Did you like it? – he asked, sticking his dark eyes into hers
- I did
- Well, this I can tell you for sure, girl: there'll be more
She could hardly move, trapped between his arms, her back still sore by the pieces of broken glass that had sank down into her skin, so strong was he squeezing against his own body. They spent a couple of seconds like this, his arm in her back, the fingers searching for the places where the crystal had made its mark on her white skin, the little wounds that stung more than she wanted to admit, but the pain was acceptable, even pleasant…their faces were closer enough to see the pupils shimmering in the dark, closer to feel the touch of their hair. They looked each other deeply in the eye, as if they wanted to guess what was going on inside both their minds; but he knew it, or at least he could make a very accurate approximation, and eventually, she was aware of that. Then, he let her go, slowly.
- C'mon. Gotta lot o' work to do
Outside the alley, the streets were crowded. Groups of teenagers going on Halloween parties, drinking and having good time. Perfect, he said to himself, it couldn't be a better night, a night of disguises, thorn faces and harsh voices…a night of masks. He looked for something underneath his coat. She kept starring at what he was doing.
- Ok, my little clown pal. It's mask time!
She had seen that mask before, in a corner of her memory she knew it: Grumpy! She bumped up a little bit, smirking and giving a happy clap in the air at the sight of that clown rubber mask. The look he threw to her was full of rejoiced surprise.
- Wow… so, you've seen this before, don't you?
Not waiting for an answer, he grabbed her cheek gently but firm, sliding another different mask through her face. It was a plastic cold theatrical mask, all white, not a single spot of color apart from a huge black smile, cutting her lips by the corners. He grinded in satisfaction, as if he was studying a piece of art-work he's just finished. He took his own Grumpy mask and put it on, and made his way towards the open street, she holding his hand like a little child. The night was in its prelude.
He was walking purposely, quick and tight steps. She noticed a unique way of moving on this man; it seemed like one moment or another he could stumble on his own feet, then he recovered his pace, confident. His back swayed constantly as he moved forward, dodging people at ease, with agile, gentle, even graceful movements. She was carried in smooth steps, his big gloved hand squeezing her wrist in a nervous grab, as if he was afraid she could get loose… sometimes he intertwined his fingers to hers, but just a little bit, perhaps only to see what it felt like, then put them away. That uncertain behavior made her confused, for she was just getting used to his sudden mood changes; she really wanted to understand, and at that point she felt – she knew- she could get closer to this walking mystery he was.
As they were getting mingled with people on the streets, a bunch of punks saw the costumed couple going around the corner to the next alley. They couldnt hide the laugh while slowly approximate.
- Hey, thats hell of a costume, dude! – Said one- Geez, you almost look like that murderer clown… whats the name?
- The Joker! - said the other. The rest burst out laughing.
The boy wasnt in his twenties yet, one could tell for the way of talking, daring and childish at the same time. He went around them while the rest of the group got closer and closer; she was calm, studying the situation. "Theyre just kids, no guns, no visible weapons, and a little too much alcohol in their breath… not a hard threat, as a matter of fact" He looked like he was having great fun, smirking inside his mask, producing a hollowed sound as he took a jaunty position, bowing the head to the right side. He wanted to listen a bit more of what this character had to say.
- What's the matter with you, man? Are you high or deaf-mute? Take out that god damned mask! I said I like your outfit!
- Suddenly, something changed. She noticed a strain, sort of a tension, as if the air were gotten thicker, while he took slow steps forward, moving his left hand inside the cuff. "Thats it!" she though "thats what I didnt see a while ago, when he put the knife on my face… that movement, right there!" Only the fingers trembled, like a slide of hands, and how obvious was what happened next. A second later, the boy's head was trapped between a powerful arm and a sharp blade. Nobody made a sound or a move. His words were poured in a deadly tone.
- And I say…thank you!
Next thing they know, a terrifying bunch of punks were leaving their places and running in different direction. The boy was still shivering, his hands trying to reach out something on the back, making funny flappings in the air, yet the relentless blade in his right cheek. After a moment, he slowly released his prey. Not a word came through his mouth, as the kid made his way far from there as fast as the legs let him. Covering his face he ran, but not before looking backwards from a safe distance and throwing an appalled affront
-Y-you cant be him, you know? You cant be that Joker guy! Anybody could make a mimic, imitate the voice, ya' know? Youre a copycat…you have to be… you have to…!
She saw him wagging the knife gracefully one hand to another, looking right to the escaping boy. Then, he put the blade softly inside his coat, in an elegant movement. She was impressed, not for the violence, of course, it was not as she hasnt seen that before, but because of the relationship –if one could call it so- he had with the knife. An extension of his own body, that was the key, they way he had to communicate, to express, the only chance to show himself to the world.
He fixed his mask and looked at her throught the eyes holes. Because of the dark paint, it seemed as if there wasn´t any expression in his eyes or face, but she knew he was grinding widely. She stayed the same position: hips to one side, arms crossed over the chest. Behind the white theatrical mask, she was grinding as well, and he knew it. No words came from his mouth as he approached to her, careless messing his hair; the untidy green locks gave him hell of a wild look, like a aggressive hunter threatening his prey; but as she spent more and more time by his side, she started to reject the feeling of being hunted…she was starting to think of herself as a huntress too, a side-kicker who had a starring role in the party, whatever he had had prepared for it.
They spent a few moments like this. She was getting used to his body shape, his movements, and his words. From this point, there was no turning back; she knew it from the very first moment, but knowing was not enough, understanding… understanding was something else.