An alarm sounds throughout the building as various chunks of cement and brick are thrown from the building and into the streets. The only high security patient to step from his cell is the very one that she wants out: The Joker. The other ones are lost cases who are actually demented or insane to the point that they needn't be roaming the streets. A guard approaches with shadowed eyes. The two have a stare off, the Clown not being much of a threat due to the jacket. Finally the guard smirks and moves around, undoing the various straps until the restraining 'shirt' falls to the floor. His arms regain the freedom he once had as he tilts his head to the left, the sounds of popping being an undertone to the alarms setting off. The dark blond almost brown curls surrounding his unpainted face. Even though the Joker was once a very handsome man the look in his eyes, the scars adding, shows nothing but an unremorseful man with the wounds upon his face to tell a story of horror.
Following the guard, both striking down the ones who seem to be displeased with his 'escape', the guard leads him to the room so that he may regain the Royal Purple suit. His bare hands clench the fabric that has since been washed and dried. That smile creeps onto his face in such a sinister way that even the man who escorted him shuddered. It's been a while since the rich color was able to trace his shoulders and yet when he finally slipped it on a smile of satisfaction washes over his relaxed persona.
"Who do I uh, have the luxuries of the Great Escape?" He asks stripping the white Arkham shirt from his scarred torso and throws it to the ground.
"The Princess of the city," He replies, stepping out of the room.
"The Prin-cess.. Hmmm," Slipping on the odd blue hexagon-printed shirt, buttoning it up quickly.
"That's what the underground calls her. Sometimes Devil In Black-- take your pick," He shrugs, aiming the pistol at an approaching doctor, shooting him dead.
"Ah so it's the Falcone girl. What an in-ter-esting development," Pulling the purple slacks up and securing the button.
Next is the suspenders, slapping them against his shoulders. The emerald green vest slides on fluidly as the sounds of gunfire fills his perked ears. Quick fingers fix the green tie, securing it in place before cracking his neck. The lighter in weight and colored jacket slips on first followed by the royal purple trench immediately after. Those multicolored socks are rolled up as he slips the haggard shoes onto his feet. Finally the finishing touch to his outfit are the tight, deep purple wrist length gloves. Fingers dancing as the second skin conforms once more. Moving around he grabs the box that holds his chain wallet and various assortment of knives. More men have joined the party blasting away anyone who dares to stop the Clown Prince from leaving Arkham. Guards bodies litter the ground as he finally steps from the room and begins to descend the stairs, a full posse protecting him and ensuring he checks out of the Asylum. Batman certainly won't be arriving as it is three in the afternoon, the man behind the mask is currently out of the city for the night.
The double doors swing open, the sounds of siren filling the thick air. Smacking his lips together his dark eyes come to see two cars sitting, waiting to be occupied. A toss of keys as his gloved hand catches the shiny object. He understands, he always understands. One car is for him to leave and the other one is for Dominique's men. Well he certainly didn't expect to tag along with the others to return to her without looking completely appropriate. A rush in feet as everyone has already stuffed themselves inside. Both engines roar to life as the lights of the squad cars reflect on the buildings behind him. Just as he turns the car around a corner in the narrow street a police car skids to stop followed by others as a herd of officers flood Arkham, fearing the worst.
The walls are closing in as she scrunches up in a corner of her room. The black veil of her hair is matted down with sweat as Dom's nails dig into the floor and walls. Arms outstretched as if trying to keep her sitting body steady. Quick inhales and exhales come from the woman who suffers so horribly from anxiety and panic attacks. Ever since Crane flooded the city with his toxin Dom will have random moments in which the drug comes alive in her mind. There is no medicine at her house to stop it and she doesn't dare ask the Doctor for anything of that nature. There would be that all too great possibility he would give her something completely different to cause her to go off her rocker completely. When these 'attacks' happen the time varies. Some of them last for a few, very short minutes were as they can last for several hours. What begins it is her breathing as it can adjust itself to mimic the beating of her heart; quick and fast. Next the room seems to become dimmer and smaller forcing her into a corner or something of the likes to ensure nothing comes out of the woodwork to attack her. Dominique will try to calm herself but it'll never work. Flashes of images cross her closed mind as that horrible grin begins to talk without a face, much like the Cheshire Cat in Alice In Wonderland. Her primary fear is the Clown. Another image is of men with masks covering their mouths, gloved hands and a lab jackets. Her next fear is ending up in Arkham, just like her father.
Loud groans and screams of frustration as her hands come to her face, burying them deep within her palms. Tears on the verge of staining her cheeks. The attack is soon to pass as it has been going on for the past twenty five minutes. The rapid beats of her heart have begun to slow as her breathing attempts to find it's way back to normal before pure hyperventilation takes over. Lids clenching shut over the pure blue of her eyes, Dom's arms come to wrap themselves around her knees, bringing them to her chest. Resisting the urge to rock her body back and forth she begins to mutter to herself.
"Breathe… Calm… breathe… calm… calm down Dom," As she soothes herself.
Resting her forehead against her knees, she takes a few more deep breaths until she finally unclenches her fingers from the bone of her calves. Blinking a few times her focus became clearer as she remains in the same area for a few more minutes. Raising her head as it finds the wall behind her, leaning against it as shallow breaths are taken. Her body still jerked slightly from the body tremors from her panic attack. Dominique sits there for a few more minutes until she can feel her whole state of mind return to normal, body included. She feels drained, all the energy that was there before the whole incident has been zapped away completely. It was if there was a switch on her back that was flipped every so often so that she may power down as if she were some high-tech robot.
Her senses jump start when the loud vibration of her phone shakes against the floor around her. A hand shoots out as she picks the phone up, opening the text as she does so. Even this simple task takes more energy than usual. It is as if lead was injected into the bloodstream, her entire body, making it so much harder to move even a finger to a button.
"Clowns out. Turn the tube on if you want to see his new home video."
With an exasperated sigh and mutters of vulgar, her hand grips onto the edge of a desk to pull the dead weight of her body from the floor. Silent movements against the cold marble floor as she walks closer and closer to her bed before collapsing on it completely. A simple flick on the remote and the image on the large flat screen comes on. She doesn't even need to change the channel. On every single station news reports play. Showing scenes of Arkham, showing the cell that the Joker once resided in and finally the video he sent in.
The camera is close to his face showing the vivid red smeared against his scars and lips. The rest of his face coated in a thick white while his dark eyes are outlined in an even darker onyx. Yellow teeth flash to the camera in his wicked grin, laughing. "Hello Gotham," His voice rasps out but still with a hint of laughter, "I'm back! Can the Batman come out to play?" He says with malicious laughter.
"I promise that I uh, will have him back a nine sharp. But if Batsy is busy that means the Prince and uh, Princess-ah can have some alone time." One last flash of his Cheshire smile and the camera quickly fades to black.
Dominique lays there, staring at the screen with such a dumbfounded look. The Princess? Furrowed brows as she rolls over on her back, a hand brushing across her forehead. The Mobster has no idea that people frequently uses the term 'Mob Princess' in describing her. 'Bitch', 'Ice Queen', 'Devil In Black'-- from her usual wardrobe of the dark material but never has she heard the term 'Princess' used to describe the ill willed woman. She situates herself the proper way so that she may pass out completely in the bed, not willing to be woken if the world were ending. That is until around three in the morning. A shiver passes through her body as if a spirit were there, hovering and watching. Magnificent blue eyes flutter open to the distant dark, gazing around sluggishly. Something feels out of the ordinary but she can't quite place a finger on it. Rising from her bed, turning the lamp on to give the room so light, hands rub against her face.
"You know… I've always thought the Mob people were rather ugly. Ju-sssst like their operation," The cool voice calls out from a hidden area.
Her heartbeat begins to increase as her palms begin to sweat. Everything in her Central Nervous System begins to send out waves of panic. To the eye Dominique Falcone is a well composed woman who doesn't allow any types of fear or paranoia show through. Fleeting thoughts may occur but unless it's when the remaining toxin sets in there is nothing to worry about. But when an actual fear shows up into the Manor, staying hidden in one of the many cornered shadows, is when that composure threatens to crack as if it were a mirror. Hearing light taps as he shoes moved around on the marble, a faint swish as his weapon of choice comes from his deep pocket.
"But you, beautiful, surprised me. Easy on the eyes, yes, but quite uh, dim witted. You were the big 'guy' getting me all those wonderful toys. Never got to say thank you," She hears him flick his tongue out to lick those red painted lips.
Dom keeps her eyes glued ahead to the open bathroom trying to keep herself from relapsing into another panic induced attack. Her fingers have dug themselves into the mattress as she he spoke. Moving around ever so slightly, taunting her with the promise of a smile. She feels a heat to her side as he stands there, eyes peering down and observing the way she sits so very still, breathing coming in cool waves. He moves himself as he is now standing in front of her, her eyes level with his chest. A gloved purple hand grips her clenched jaw as the Clown forces her to look up. She obliges though fearful. The flat side of the knife taps her cheek three times as if to try and get her attention.
"Quiet. Not something I expected… But you know what they say, 'Silence is Golden!'" He laughs while leaning down slightly to be a bit more level with her face but still having her stare up at him.
"See I've always had a problem with the Mob. Concerned about their money and power. Power that you all will never have while I'm here. But you, Dom, you supplied me with many things and also put a big hole in Arkham… Just so I could make this nice little house call. Ya know, doll, if ya wanted to see me so badly you could have came up there. I'm sure dear old daddy misses you," He smiles as her eyes narrow and her teeth grit together.
The cupid drifts down to the straps on the black teddy she wore before the panic attack, before sleeping. Their eyes stay locked on each other as she feels the cold metal against the contrast of her warm skin. The worry that he just might stab clean and clear through her chest drifts in and out every other second. She would reach out to push him away but at the moment she is trying to stay calm, no, more than calm. Trying to keep her heart from racing, her body from shaking. Her eyes stare up at his face, as he likes, but there is no doubt they trace on the jagged scars.
"Are you quiet because of the scars?" He asks as he brings her head forward.
Quickly a reply is brought on as she shakes her head viciously. There has been word that he brings up his mangled flesh right before his Cupid slices into the waiting flesh of his victims. Dom, in her opinion, is just too attractive for any type of 'accident' to happen. The sharpened utensil slices clear through the fabric of her strap, the broken side seeping down, threatening to reveal precious skin.
"No? Well isn't that a first. So you mean to tell me that the infamous Falcone daughter doesn't run off at those precious lips of hers?" The tip of his knife tapping her chin with his voice heightened.
"N-no. I mean yes… No," Fearful of his reaction.
"Yes, no, maybe so. Which one is it, Princess?" His gloved hand coming up to clench the roots of her ravenous hair.
Letting out a soften squeak of pain, she shuts her eyes. How the fuck did this circus reject make his way into her house? Two large dogs guard the area plus she is sure the alarm system is on, waiting to catch someone in the act of breaking and entering. Either he shot her beloved dogs and cut the alarm or he is severely crafty. Her thoughts are interrupted as he tugged harder on her hair meaning he wants his answer. Fluttering lids open as her gaze returns to the man made up in greasepaint.
"Yes… I do." Her voice coming back to her finally.
"You do?! My, my, isn't that shocking. A spoiled little Mob brat who doesn't mind spitting out orders," He lowers his stance completely now so that they are perfectly eyelevel, when he speaks again his voice is sharp, dangerous and low, "Give me an order, Dommy Dearest."
She stares at him fearfully.
"Go on. Give. Me. An. Order."
"No."
"No?" His hand on her hair clenches as he pulls her up from the bed and forces her body to fall to the floor.
"Lets get one thing straight," A foot comes to land on the small of her back, keeping her pinned to the ground, "I'm the better class of criminal in Gotham. I own this city. I. Me. Only. You Mob fools do nothing at all but lead others around on the whims of your 'greatness'."
Dom remains silent, completely fearful that he may get the better of her. This is out of character for her and she'll be the first to admit it. The Mobster doesn't hold her tongue to anyone but it seems that with the Clown Prince of Crime she is more than willing to. The pressure on her spinal cord is lifted as she breaths an exhale of relief until she hears him move around, his haggard shoes coming to face her lowly gaze. Hearing the joints pop as his knees bend to squat down before her, the plum leather gloves grip her defined jaw as she raises herself on her knees with the gathering force of his grip. Once again she is level with his sinister eyes as everything inside of her hardens.
"But you'll fall just as the others did," His fingers dancing to emphasis his point, "But you seem fun. The way your body constricts, the way those pretty little eyes of yours harden… You're staring fear in the face, aren't ya?" He smiles that bastardly smile, "Wonder what you'll be… a coward or a hero when you're at the end of my dear old friend," He holds his valued Cupid blade in the air as the moonlight catches a glimpse of it. With his grip tightened around the hilt he sends a forceful punch down to her delicate temple to knock her out stone cold.
So I'm not a fan of having him knock people out just so they can wake up somewhere else but I did it. Thing is she won't wake up somewhere else other than that marble floor her father paid for. ;D
Thank you to all the reviewers, once again. It's going to perk up once there is more Joker and Dominique scenes I promise you. It is rated 'M' after all. Review if you'd like-- it's greatly appreciated.