A/N: special thanks to MeReDy-ChAmPaIgn for the reviews...they seriously inspired me to chug out another chapter for you all tonight...I tried to make it pretty long since I'm not sure when I'll get the next one up...see, reviews do help writers hinthintnudgenudge anyways...let me know what you guys think of my attempt at the Joker...I like him, but I want to know if you do too! any comments are welcome!! also a delayed thank you to 6xxxangelxxx9 for being my first ever review :) enjoy!
Disclaimer: yaddayadda no batman yadda yadda no joker yadda yadda no gotham yadda T.L. mine yadda
I spent the day in my workshop, the loud metal music pumping from my stereo system drowning out my angry mutterings. When I was pissed off and working, I had a tendency to talk to myself. Used to scare away all the macho military officers when I worked on government projects, made them think I was crazy. Good times, good times. The morning and afternoon were spent forming a prototype of the metal portion of my latest chemical brain child. Now all I needed was that cyanide…
I'd taken only one break from my work, hours ago when the cat had decided it was hungry and had left its perch on one of the metal work tables to wind itself between my legs, making figure eights over and over again until I finally relented and led it to the kitchen. Now, with the prototype complete, I stood, stretching in an attempt to stave off the aches I knew were coming from being bent over my creation all day. A sound in the living room made me stop mid-stretch, hands high above my head as I paused, ears straining to catch the next sound. I heard it softly, a footstep in the hall, cautious and slow, someone making their way quietly through my home. I came down from my stretch soundlessly, sliding my body instinctually into a position of readiness, muscles tight, fingers tingling as if ready for action.
He stepped into the room confidently, like it were an everyday occurrence. Same purple suit, same greasy face paint, same Glasgow grin. Part of me wanted to freeze, like I had in the alley; to roll over and show my stomach in submission like a subservient canine. There was a moment of pause, like the calm before the storm, while I stood there fighting that feeling of passiveness; him just waiting for me to react. Internally I struggled, until, finally, one side won.
With a yowl of fury, I snatched a long knife from my work bench, flinging it at him. Screw the spring-loaded, I had enough anger to hurl that baby hard. As my luck would have it, though, he was a infuriatingly quick bugger. With a little hop he moved to the side, just barely avoiding being sliced by my impressive display of flying cutlery. In three large strides, he was right in front of me, hand around my throat, the tip of his own knife resting on my bottom lip. He wasn't squeezing to choke, just hard enough to keep me from moving. I wouldn't have guessed it from his bedraggled appearance, but he was strong, maybe stronger than some of the marines I had worked with. I glared back into his probing eyes, waiting for whatever was to come. Terror wasn't an emotion I came by easily, righteous indignation was so much easier for me to hold on to. Finally he spoke.
"You got a little fight in you, I like that," he giggled, releasing his hold on my neck and shoving his knife back into his pocket, "But that ain't no way to greet a friend, Tiger Lily." His grin was maddening, in more ways than one. I leaned back against the work table behind me, crossing my arms over my chest in a pose of annoyance.
"Yeah well, I don't know about you, but I don't usually go around drugging my friends," I shot back. Internally I flinched. Oh yeah, lets piss off the crazy guy, that sounds like fun my sarcastic inner voice taunted me. To my relief, he didn't gut me. Instead, his booming laugh echoed off the walls of my work room.
"Tsk tsk, is that was has your panties in a twist?" he teased, edging closer.
"Don't, for one second, think you had any effect on my panties!" I declared in outrage, ignoring the creeping feeling in my stomach. There was no way I would acknowledge that his nearness had any impact on me.
"Oh, oh," he chortled, as if I were the most amusing thing on earth. He stepped closer, and with my back against the table I had nowhere to retreat. His lips twitched into a small smile as he ran one
gloved finger down the side of my face. I struggled not to move, not to react. With a flash of a grin, he turned and made his way out of the room and towards the kitchen.
"Do you have anything to drink?" he called over his shoulder. I stood there for a moment longer, my mind racing. The Joker is in my house. My heart skips a beat every time I see him, stops completely when he touches me. I let out a small groan. Why couldn't my life be normal? I followed him to the kitchen.
It was an odd scene. I sat across from THE JOKER at my kitchen table, sodas in front of each of us and a plate of cookies in the middle of the table that I had baked yesterday. You'd think being a chemist I'd be a good cook. Chemistry…cooking…same thing right? Wrong. I was an awful chef. If this were an equation it would be: me + cooking a great load of suck. I was ok at baking though. I was fidgeting slightly but I couldn't help it. He was just sitting there, in all his purple and face paint, looking around the room in curiosity, all the world as if he were just a normal visitor in my house.
"So, um," I cleared my throat awkwardly, "what were you doing in that alley last night?" It hadn't been the question I wanted to ask, but it would do. He gave me a grin worthy of the Cheshire cat.
"Well, ya see," he drawled, "I did this bank job, ya know? Easy peesy, but I kind of, maybe, killed off all my goons in the process, so I figure, 'hey, what better place to find criminals willing to follow a madman than the streets of Gotham'."
"So….you were trolling for followers?" I clarified, kind of stunned. He nodded, apparently pleased with my translation.
"I'm glad you showed up though. I was actually considering hiring those guys on, ya know? But who wants followers her run from girlie?" he laughed. Anger coursed through my veins.
"Are you saying they shouldn't of been afraid of me?" I ground out through gritted teeth. If he noticed my resentment, he didn't show it.
"Oh, no, pretty kitty," he chortled again, "what I meant is that they should have been on their knees begging for mercy as soon as they saw that feral glint in your eye, not running like cowards only after you turned their leader into a Roman choir boy." I couldn't help but smile at that, and it also allowed me to relax enough to ask the question I had really wanted to ask.
"What do you want from me?" I said it soft enough to almost be considered a whisper. I couldn't help but be terrified of what his answer would be.
"Ha ha ha, I knew you would ask eventually," he chuckled, "Well, I took a little trip to my local library…" he interrupted himself with a fit of giggles, probably at the look of complete disbelief on my face. "ho ho, he, ha, ahem, anyways…and did a bit of research on the pretty little stray I picked up off the street," he waggled his eyebrows at me and I rolled my eyes before motioning him to continue. He grinned, "I found out my itty bitty kitty was really royalty in the scientific community. A real 'Belle of the ball' you might say…" I frowned at his choice of words. Had the son of a bitch actually found a document with my middle name on it? I never used my middle name…he shouldn't have been able to find it anywhere…unless maybe I was just being paranoid? Maybe it was just a lucky choice of expression…the look of pure glee on his face convinced me I was wrong. He let out a barking laugh when he knew his phrase had hit home. For a madman, the Joker was seriously connected.
Hello. My name is Lily Belle Gardener. I am a scientist. I am seriously concerned that my life just took a turn into crazy town… I am not normal.