Disclaimer: I don't own The Dark Knight. I do own the "plants".
Chapter Twenty-Nine: Joker
I walk into the house and find myself facing a rumpus—one not caused by me.
The rug's rumpled, and little speckles of blood cover the floor and even the walls. A few knife scratches line the wallpaper, but thankfully not too deep.
My boys are sprawled out or sitting in clumps, covered in blood and sweat and tears, and not even realizing that their "Daddy" is home. And is very, very unhappy with them.
"Ahem," I say coldly, shaking the snow off my coat and tossing it to one side. "Well, boys, what'd I miss?"
"Boss!" my boys scream almost in unison as they scramble to their feet. Good to see they've still got ears.
Schiff pops up out of nowhere and grabs my sleeve, tugging me toward the next room. "We got 'em, Boss! Look!" he says, eyes wild with excitement, giddy with adrenaline.
His brown hair is a fluffy mess, and his green sweater is covered in wrinkles. Looks like my…puppy bit a few ankles while I was gone.
"Got who, exactly?" I ask, as Schiff abruptly lets go of my arm and—like a guy after my own heart—gives a grand flourish in the direction of who it is he means.
A group of, ah, roughed-up guys are sitting in the middle of the parlor, trussed up like a Christmas turkey, staring at me in fear. Seymour is standing beside them, sweaty and equally worse for wear, juggling what looks like…police badges. He tosses one to Jack for him to gnaw on.
Oh, my, my, my.
"They're plants, Boss." Seymour tosses the badges to me, and I catch them without hesitation. "Some of Gordon's guys, we think. Something like that. They're new on the block—we noticed 'em."
"Obviously." I lick my scars, crouching down beside the nearest "plant". "Thought that while the cat was away, you mousies would play, hmmm?"
The man spits at me. A bloody glob lands on my face, and I slowly wipe it away. I watch the look on the man's face turn from defiance to something…better.
"Bad cop," I say, taking out my potato peeler. I haven't used it in awhile. It must be getting lonely, y'know? "Bad, bad cop."
Schiff giggles nervously behind me, muttering "bad cop" to himself as I force the man's mouth open with my fingers, peeler at the ready.
"Seymour, get me some, ah, plastic wrap. This could get a little…messy."
Soon enough, with a series of agonizing screams and drooling blood, he's unable to spit on me. And he won't spit on anyone. Ever. Again.
I let the man cry, blood drooling from his lips as I turn to the others. They're staring soundlessly at me, fear really growing in their eyes. All that police training's starting to fade away already. You'd think that Gordon would pick people a bit more, ah, competent.
But no. He believes too easily—that's his problem.
"So." I grin at them, swishing the peeler around. "What're we gonna do with these potted plants, Schiff?"
Schiff looks down at the floor, a rosy pink blossoming on his cheeks at being asked his opinion. "I don't know, Boss."
His face may look angelic, but there's a monster in his eyes that wants blood. Or at least, his current monster—he's had an assortment in his "career". There's a reason why Schiff's one of my "oldest" boys.
"Maybe…" Schiff starts, his eyes flicking from me to the floor. "Smiles?"
I nod, rubbing my chin. "Sounds good." I look at Seymour. "What about you, Seymour? Schiff wants me to make them smile. What do you think we should do?"
Seymour shrugs. "Whatever you want, Boss."
I giggle and clap Seymour on the back. "'Atta boy! You two have never let me down!" Of course, that doesn't mean they won't ever let me down. And when they do…
But now just isn't the time and place for thoughts like that. Sooo…
"So, smiles all around…in whatever way I want." I give a grandiose gesture toward the "plants", watching the sweat slide down their faces. "Looks like it's your, ah, lucky day."
And oh, is it ever.
"Schiff?" I point toward the kitchen. "Our plants need…watering."
Schiff can't help giggling as he goes to work. I tap the peeler against my wrist, watching the lovely red blood slide down my arm, dripping onto it's owner, who seems to be, ah, losing the battle against his bladder. I lift him up by the collar, pressing the peeler against the corner of his lips.
Time to repay Schiff for a job well done. In fact, time to repay all my boys.
Sometimes, faith needs to be…rewarded.
--
"…Awwww, look!" I pout as the last "plant" falls over, eyes rolled back in his head. "He couldn't handle his water either!"
Of course, when you're bleeding from your mouth and have a filled-to-the-brim water bottle shoved between your teeth, you can't really hold anything.
My boys laugh and clap like good little children, clearly glad to see me back. Seymour drags the "plants" out the door, using the bloodied plastic wrap. I bow and refuse cheers for an "encore", telling them "I'll be here all week" and so on. I can see a light in their eyes as they appreciate my, ah, unique brand of humor.
That's a good sign.
"Okay, boys," I say after the "plants" are all taken care of. "I've got another 'playdate' for us. Or I will soon—as soon as Wayne gives out the date to his…Christmas bash."
The boys cheer again, laughing gleefully at the idea.
Batsy really shouldn't have been so…mean this morning. He practically, ah, offered himself to me. "Christmas Party", right. Yeah, Batsy, go get your holly-jollies…
As the boysgo about their favorite pastime, harassing pedestrians, I do something a little more…charitable. It's my, ah, duty. It's clear as the scowl on his face that for a man of wealth, Batsy is definitely not getting into the holiday spirit. I can tell that already. Soooo…why not give him a few, ah, gifts to lighten him up?
And I know just the place.
