For a moment, Michelle's sure that she's fallen asleep in the limo and that the person whose shoe she's staring at from behind her bangs is James', letting her sleep off a hangover from the Wayne fundraiser. Her head feels like it's been put through a dishwasher, and she groans under her breath from how the pain in the side of her head pulses with every heartbeat.
"Someone's awake early. Tough old girl, aren't you?"
Her eyes widen as the faintly amused (and patronizing) voice of a homicidal maniac sounds out somewhere above her, and she tries to slow her breathing and pretend she's still unconscious. There's a moment of silence in the van as nobody speaks, and Michelle begins to think that she's fooled him. Then, the toe of his shoe taps her on the side of her head, a little harder than necessary.
"You know, I can tell you're awake. You're not too good at acting."
Knowing that she's been caught, Michelle sighs in a hissing sort of way and tries to lie back down on the floor of the van to ignore him.
"Oh fuck you," She spits at him under her breath, and not a moment later, she screams when he stamps his foot down on her hand and casually grinds his heel into her fingers.
"Come on now, we don't need to be so hostile," He says down to her, dragging out the last word as she presses her forehead against the cool van bottom and grits her teeth. "It's not like you have any real reason to be angry. You're not dead, so far. You've already outlived at least three of my henchmen." There's rustling as Michelle guesses that he's digging through something, and she raises her head to get a good look at him for the first time. The black circles around his eyes make it look like he's only got empty sockets in the low light, except for a faint glint of light off of his eyes. Most noticeable, though, is the ghastly red smile that she's unintentionally mimicking.
She begins to notice that her vision must still be faded and fuzzy, because she can't see very well at all. Then she notices that he's digging through her purse.
"Hey asshole, what the hell do you think you're doing?" Michelle snaps, moving to her knees and standing enough to lean forward and try to snatch the purse out of his hands. She vaguely knows that it's a horrible, horrible idea, but her thoughts are still fuzzy so the realization of exactly how horrible this idea is doesn't strike her at the moment.
"You're pretty rude," She sees a flash of movement and then feels a foot flat against her chest, a moment before he kicks her back hard enough for her to hit the other side of the van and smack her head on the steel wall again, before crumpling to the floor. "Miss Michelle King. For dressing up that pretty face of yours like mine, you don't seem happy to meet the original."
"Didn't mean to…" She murmurs from the other side of the van, sitting up slowly and leaning against the opposite wall of the van. There's a thug up front driving and another sitting in back with them and apparently attempting to ignore things, like the driver is. They both flinch at a burst of raucous laughter from the Joker, the noise bouncing off the walls of the van painfully loud.
"Didn't mean to? Did you just not notice the big red smear across your face?" He asks through his laughter, and Michelle's too addled to take offense. She doesn't answer and just closes her eyes, feeling sick to her stomach. There's silence and then, more rustling as he continues to dig through her purse.
"Nice taste in greasepaint you've got, though. Expensive stuff. " Michelle raises her head, slowly, and sees that he's now examining the tube of black greasepaint that she must have, in her hurry to get ready earlier, swept into her purse without realizing. She doesn't care, though, because she feels absolutely horrible right now. From her head to her hand to the sick feeling in her stomach, she feels terrible.
Now would be a good time to pass out again, She notes, sliding down the wall of the van with half-lidded eyes. That's about when the van comes to a sudden, jerky stop, and Michelle slumps over and whacks her head on the floor again. A really, really good time.
"I think I have a concussion," She states, loud enough to be heard, and hears movement right in front of her.
"No no, if you had a concussion you'd be asking the same questions over and over again," Joker states as he grabs her by the wrist and drags her to her feet, before closing a gloved hand around the back of her neck and gripping there tightly enough to guide her weak staggering. "'Where am I?', 'what happened?', 'Why is everyone done up like clowns? Are we at the circus?' Stupid things like that."
Michelle winces at the painfully tight grip he has on the back of her neck, but goes along with it anyway because there isn't really any other choice. "You've got experience in this area of expertise?"
"Oh, plenty," She hears him state casually, dragging her along towards an old warehouse-type building. The two goons walked behind them, as they entered the dim, distinctly musty building. The entire place looked dirty, as if someone hadn't been in the place for years before Joker and his men moved in, with rusted pipes in view here and there and dim, flickering lights casting an eerie yellowish fluorescent glow over everyone.
"Welcome to Joker Estates, Michelle. A little old, little bit dirty, but hey; that just adds to the charm."
Michelle just staggers along, before she begins to slow down and almost can't continue. He doesn't even slow down, though he lets her neck slip free of his grip and instead coils his fist in her long hair and drags her along.
"I'm not carrying you, so let's march," Joker states, and it's only a moment of the vicious pulling before Michelle's on her feet again, and he grips the back of her neck again for an easier lead. "Good girl."
She wants to say something snappy and witty, but nothing comes to mind and she remains silent as he comes to a room and throws open the door with enough gusto for it to slam against the wall loudly. There's a dirty mattress lying on the opposite floor and a door leading to what could ostensibly be a bathroom, and Michelle only gets a moment to take this in before they're walking over towards the bed.
"Take a load off," He says in her ear about a second before he sweeps the foot she's leaning most of her weight on out from under her, and she drops like a stone to the lumpy, kind of hard mattress, face-first. "Because, hey, this just could be the last room you ever see. Might as well get comfortable."
It takes a moment for him to realize that she's not moving.
"Hey? You know, if you're dead I'm going to be disappointed. We went through all the trouble of getting acquainted and all."
He toes her with his boot and, with no movement, hooks his shoe underneath her stomach and rolls her over onto her back, before putting his foot on her stomach and pressing down hard. Michelle coughs and recoils at the pressure, and opens her eyes enough to see that the Joker's staring at her, apparently displeased at her passing out while he was in the middle of a lecture.
"What do you even want with me?" She manages in a strangled tone, and squints up at him. At the question he smiles, having apparently been waiting and prepared for it.
"There's that question. And here I thought you were just going to roll with it the entire way," He sounds vaguely disappointed, but the tone doesn't really have as much an effect when he's smiling like that. Michelle doesn't smile back, just stares. "It's not really all that complicated. You entertain me, at least for right now. And until you stop being funny, or something…unfortunate happens," He says 'something unfortunate' in a way that seems to suggest that this is what he's most expecting to happen, "Then you'll be here as a member of our…ooh, I think we could call it one big family."
Her heart is sinking with every word, as he makes accompanying hand motions to give emphasis where it's needed. And since she's not talking, he takes the opportunity to start talking about something else entirely, offhandedly beginning to pace.
"You know, it gets depressing being the only one smiling around here. I think a fresh face might brighten up the place a bit. And more manpower is always appreciated; crime is a business, you know, and the turnover rate for henchman is kind of…high around here. Can you handle a gun?" Joker turns toward her at that last sentence, seeming to wait for a response. She opens her mouth to respond "No, why would I you sick freak", but he cuts her off with a clap of his gloved hands. "Never mind, I'm sure we'll find out later." He turns, heading for the open door as a curious masked thug that had been watching dives back out of the line of sight, skittering off. Meanwhile Michelle tries to stand, tries to walk after him and start cussing him out for playing with her life on a stupid whim, but as she puts weight on her leg it collapses beneath her and she falls to her knees and scrapes them on the concrete flooring, her slinky black dress now dirty and ripped here and there.
"That reminds me," The Joker says as an afterthought, already chucking her purse across the room and ignoring the noise of it smacking hard against the wall. "You're probably going to want to take a shower. The blood is a nice aesthetic, but it's good to mix things up a bit. Everybody does blood now and then, anyway. It's tired."
He slams the door behind him and the lock clicks shut, as Michelle stares blankly after him, not quite comprehending.
"Blood?"
She looks down at herself for the first time since her abduction, and turns a shade akin to liquid paper at the sight of thick, coagulating blood all along her shoulders and back, running in beads down her shoulders and neck and chest, her hair dried with it and stiff. It's only a moment longer before she starts screaming bloody murder, and rabid laughter rings outside her door.