Bruce: Chapter 26

Bruce had dismissed Alfred, Lucius, and Dick to bed. He wished to have a moment alone with their unexpected and unprecedented guest. The stranger made him uneasy, a feeling Bruce was not common to experiencing. Clark had the ability to beat legions of men on his own, and that was a power not even the king could boast.

Clark smirked as Alfred finally disappeared out of sight on the cave's dark pathway. "You still do not trust me."

Bruce remained unmoving as a mountain. "No, would you if the positions were switched?"

"I have not yet lied to you. I've told you my abilities, where I hail from, the extent I know of my coming into this world, even my weaknesses. I have gone against everything my father warned me against. Only for the sake of you trusting me."

"You have powers the like of which I have never seen before, abilities I don't believe the world has seen before, and you accuse me of being too distrustful?" He could crush my skull with a single backhand; he could have for any man he ran into in life. Why hasn't he?

"I suppose it is because I have more faith in men than you do. You see a man and sum up his faults and weaknesses, how you can exploit them physically or verbally. I meet a man and would rather greet him, trust him even. Living life in such paranoia would make for a terribly lonely life I would imagine," Clark responded. He answers distrust with open ridicule. He does not know how to win an argument.

"And living your life trusting and believing every person you meet is good is a naïve and foolish way to go about it. You're only like to be stabbed in the back continually and let down as if it were for sport, especially for a man with powers such as yours," Bruce countered.

Clark chuckled, Bruce found the noise incredibly irritating. "Then I suppose it is good that no blade could successfully stab me in the back. Why are you so angry at people? There are some good apples in the lot of them. Clearly you can see that if you are willing to risk your life to save them every night?"

"I save them because it is my purpose and duty in this life." Bruce did not care for this stranger's quizzical inspection of his intent and life choices. Clark had said himself that he was without purpose, so was he only to attempt to ridicule Bruce's for lack of having his own?

"Says who? Who made you commit to this life? I'm certain your parents' spirits would have forgiven you should you have chosen a life in the light. Marriage and children, happiness, leading your city from your great hall rather than from this dark cave?" Clark questioned sincerely. If this were Ned or Alfred, Bruce would have responded with a thorough arguement, knowing their wishes to honor his parents' spirits with a good life, but since Clark knew nothing of him…

"If you speak of my parents in such a way again, I will break each of your arms. I care not if I will need to keep you down here for a week just for the chance of doing it," Bruce growled.

Clark's eyes suddenly lost their jestful glimmer and his expression grew solemn. "My apologies, I did not mean to offend. I merely wished to point out that there were other ways to live your life, why choose this one? If you are so quick to distrust men, why save them with such determination and vigor? It just doesn't make sense to me, ser."

"I don't do this only to save them; I do it to show criminals that there is someone to answer to. To show them that there time of running free in this city has come to its close. At the outset of this, I thought I would help the people grow stronger, and perhaps wish to fight for their own city back. I see now that that dream is like to not come true, as they still run in terror and let anyone with the biggest stick run this city. I only worry that soon a man, such as Carmine Falcone or perhaps even Lord Tywin Lannister, will look most appealing as they will have sticks larger than any Bruce Wayne could come up with." In truth, he did not know if it would ever truly work. The smallfolk may never shed their fear, but Bruce would not be swayed on the chance of impossibility. He would not give up, not even if it took until his last breath at the age of ninety. It is not the people, but the criminals that must fear.

Clark thought a moment before replying to Bruce's declaration of his mission. He looked saddened. "That is a very long, treacherous quest you undertake. Even if, as Batman, you have the 'biggest stick', it may…"

"It will," Bruce interjected. Clark continued, "I was not going to say that it may not work, I was going to say…"

Bruce cut Clark off again, "I know what you meant. You were going to say 'it may kill me,' and I am stating, I know. I'm saying that I know it will kill me. The fact had not eluded me, and I grasp it in its entirety. I am Batman, protector of this city. I will protect people, solve crimes, I will guard the innocent, and bring the guilty to justice. The end of the tale of the Batman will be that he is dead, for in the end, the Batman dies. What else would I do? Retire? Live out the rest of my days in this castle playing cyvasse? It does not work that way, it can't. I fight until one day I can no longer, and I drop. But until that day comes, I fight."

Clark listened in awe to his words. Bruce still did not fully trust the stranger, but Alfred had the right of it. There was something, good, about Clark Kent. He had an air about him that inspired trust, faith, hope.

He is as different from me as the North and the South. Bruce could only inspire fear in the hearts of criminals. He was not destined to live his life in the light, like it seemed Clark was meant to. "That is sorry to hear," his guest said solemnly, "you know you could live with the rest of us in the light? As I'm sure your servant has tried to tell you before."

"The light doesn't suit me."

"Ah, no, you enjoy surrounding yourself in this darkness," Clark dryly stated.

"It is necessary. This conversation ends here," Bruce finished, not leaving it up for debate.

Clark remained silent for a few minutes, not sure of how to respond after Bruce's order. Bruce silently observed his guest. The man's beard was finely trimmed, and a dark black, blacker than even Bruce's own hair. His eyes were warm, as was his smile. Everything about him is built to make people trust him.

Then, Clark chuckled. "You know, my father once caught me trying to steal? I met a girl in the market, she was homeless and her parents gone, she was hungry. So I waited until one of the sellers left his cart to piss, and stole away with three of his apples. When I returned to where the girl laid in wait for me, my father was there. He had given the girl three loaves of bread and some cheese, and was none too pleased with me with me when I showed up. He made me return the apples, paying the seller twice their value for them. He made me apologize. Heh, that was my father. You either reaped what you sowed from the earth, or you paid with what you earned. 'The harder the work, the great the reward' he'd always tell me."

"How did he die?" Bruce questioned.

"He was older, one-and-sixty, he worked his land everyday with those he hired to help. His heart just grew tired and couldn't keep up with him. That was more than six years ago. I still think of him with each passing day, he was a wise man, my mother as well. She passed from her 'body failin' to do what it was supposed to,' or so she told me. She felt it coming, so we were able to make the most of our time left together. She passed close to a year after my father. People expect you to find the strength to move on with your life after losing someone you loved, but they cannot say justly unless they know," Clark finished as he stared into the wood of the desk. Bruce sat across from him, still staring intently at his guest.

"That much we are in agreement of. My father, he always said taking another's life was wrong. Whether it was a man or a deer or rabbit, he had a great distaste for killing. He would still eat the meat that his hunters brought him, and still vowed that he would still order the city guard to kill any who should storm Gotham's gates, but he knew this was a hypocrisy. It was one he chose to live with. Others called him a fool, but I still was proud of him. He accepted that he could not control other men, and never attempted to do so. He believed there was still good in all people, and he sought to find ways to bring that out of even the darkest of men. I have tried to live my life in a similar fashion, living with what hypocrisies I must, knowing that I can never control others, but hoping I could change how they viewed things," Bruce said as his gaze fell to the floor. Were this another night, with another stranger, he would have never let himself say such close secrets. Three nights without sleep must be affecting my judgment, Bruce rationalized to himself.

Bruce gazed up to meet his visitor's eyes. They were blue, a brighter blue than even his own, with small speckles of green throughout. Clark smiled. "Your father sounded like a noble man. You seem to have much in common in your views."

"Yes, he was, but no, I am nothing like him. He was kind of heart, noble, a good man."

Clark looked taken aback. "And what would that make you?"

"I, am not good," Bruce replied firmly. He stood and moved to return his armor back to its resting place within his wardrobe. Clark stood and followed him as Bruce slid his helmet onto the wooden mannequin head. "If you are not good, what are you?"

Bruce stared into the hollow eyes of his helm. "I am necessary."

Clark chuckled, "If you are what has become necessary in this world, than I fear for it."

A thin smile crept across Bruce's lips. If it had been Ned to speak that remark, he would have been irritated. As he turned to Clark and saw a white toothed grin on the man's face, he appreciated the darkly ironic jape. "You fear for the world since it needs me?"

"A man that loses his parents, plunges himself into darkness, and comes out the other side as a force capable of striking fear into tens of thousands and defeating armies? Yes I believe I'm allowed to worry in such a case."

"I could say the same of you. A man with the powers of a god? People could surely learn to fear you as well. How does that affect your outlook of the world?" Bruce questioned.

Clark chuckled once more. "We are very different, ser. I hold myself back for fear of myself, of what I am capable of doing. You restrain yourself through sheer will, because of the rules you set for yourself to never go too far. And it doesn't affect my view of the world, m'lord. No matter how dark the world seems to be, there is always light somewhere hidden within it, you need only peel back the shadows until you find it."

Father would get along well with this man. But you judge me wrongly Clark. I do hold myself back because of the rule I set to never kill, but I set that rule out of fear. Without that rule, I would be no different that the Joker, Lord Tywin, Rha's Al Ghul…perhaps even worse than the lot of them together. I have looked into that deep pit where their souls lie before, but often times looking up from within it. Will guides me, but fear restrains me.

Bruce said nothing, merely gave his guest a hand on his shoulder to signal them to retire up the pathway to the castle. He guided Clark to a guest chamber on the southern corner of the castle for him to rest for the night. As Clark slipped inside the room, Bruce allowed himself a small smile. "I hope you aren't too fond of that beard of yours, I'll need it off if you are to help me." He left his guest open mouthed in surprise as he closed the door and returned to his chambers for a restful night of sleep, or however many hours of it that he could muster.

James: Chapter 22

"No thank you, my dear," James told the serving girl to send her on her way. Nothing would deter his attention from the crowd tonight. With Joker on the loose, Nigma possibly conspiring behind his back, and the Seven knew what other dark secrets lay hidden in this city, no one was safe. Anytime the city had tried to have a celebration, it seemed the gods revolted at the idea. First the circus, then Lord Tywin's feast, James would be damned if he would let something ruin this night.

James thought it was brave of Lord Wayne to try and turn the terribly dark event of the anniversary of his parents' deaths into a celebration in their remembrance. Twice so, seeing as how well the other grand events that had been planned on the lord's behalf had gone. So long as I don't see a white faced man or one in Lannister armor, I'll be able to enjoy my evening.

Harvey Bullock was reporting to James every half hour as he made his rounds. James and two centuries of his men lining the perimeter or mingling amongst the smallfolk of the square. The festivities had already been going on for near an hour, and so far no signs of trouble had stirred. For that James was doubly grateful. If he went the rest of the night without needing to draw his sword, he may just become a religious man.

"Father." James heard spoken behind him in the soft voice of his daughter. He turned to face her. She had her hair up in a pulled up tail, sprouting like a wave at the back of her head. She wore a lovely violet summer dress, with a teal gemstone necklace beneath her chin. As always, she looked radiant, and far higher in class than James looked to be sure. He wore his City Watch standard doublet, sword at his belt, freshly washed breeches and dark brown boots with buckles just above his ankles.

"You look lovely tonight, Barb." She's a woman grown now. She'll be wed within the next few years, off to some knight's boy in another city perhaps. Then, I'll truly be alone in this cursed city… James threw the thought from his mind. Tonight was supposed to be a happy occasion, not focusing on that which could not be changed.

She looked to the ground in embarrassment. "Thank you, father. Have your men run into any trouble…?"

James shook his head and sighed in relief. "Not so far, but the night is still young." He gazed over to the long, wooden table where Lord Wayne and some of the other lords sat. Wayne had a cup of wine he was whirling about in one hand, his other wrapped around the waist of the whore sitting upon his lap. They were singing some cheery song, but James could not discern the words over the loud chattering of the crowd and music. The young Grayson even seemed to be enjoying himself, occasionally turning back to whisper a jape to his servant, or tossing a bone to one of the passing dogs.

It is a good night for everyone. Then he heard his voice. "Why Ser Gordon, what a pleasant surprise."

He turned to match gazes with Edward Nigma. He was donned in a white doublet with a velvet waistcoat over it and matching trousers. His orange hair was slicked back and he had shaved the patch of stubbled whiskers from his jaw. The golden lion of Lannister was sewn into his breast, almost as if to taunt James. Nigma turned to his daughter, "Good evening my dear, don't you look simply radiant this evening." He kissed her knuckles politely and bowed his head. It made James' skin crawl.

"Edward, I thought you would be too busy in your hunt to join us. We hadn't seen you in days, some feared you were dead in a side alley somewhere," James stated plainly.

Edward smiled. "But not you Ser, with your gentle soul I'm sure you wished for my health each passing day."

James returned his smile. "Every night before I laid my head down to sleep."

"Spectacular! Young miss, would you care to hear a riddle?" Before James could cut in and put a stop to Nigma's games , his daughter nodded with gleeful anticipation. Edward cut James a quick glance of silent victory and knelt to meet his daughter eye to eye.

"Very well my lady, as you wish. Only one color, but not one size, stuck at the bottom, yet easily flies. Present in the sun, but not in the rain. Doing no harm, and feeling no pain. What am I?" He finished with a wry grin. He does enjoy his boasting so.

Barbara thought a hard minute, tapping her fingers against her forehead as she folder her arms in thought. After thinking for a while in vain, she shrugged and looked up to Edward for the answer. "A shadow my dear. For it is only ever black, and beneath us. It stalks us beneath the sun, but hides beneath the rain. It does us no harm for it is but a figure we cannot touch, and feels no pain for it is not truly there." Edward stood and glowed in his self-loving embrace of his wit. James could see through the mummer's trick though. Batman, feels no pain for he is not a true man, does him no harm for he is but a shadow beneath him. He is only ever black, and can easily take flight, but will always be beneath him. Before James could question Edward on the matter, a scream rang out from the nearest street entryway into the square.

Sixty paces from where James stood, a boy had ripped a golden necklace from a woman's neck and proceeded to make his escape. James' men cut off his escape route down the street of the nearest alley, so he leapt to the building at his back and climbed. He climbed with a rather surprising amount of speed and agility, jumping from one brick sticking out from the rest to a windowsill and finally his fingertips reached the roof's ledge. He pulled himself up, just at the edge of where the torchlight from the square below faded into the darkness of the night sky. The building stood three stories, and climbing it was no small feat.

As the boy climbed up onto the roof and turned to the crowd below to beam with pride for his daring escape, a large shadow crept up behind him. The shadow then doubled in size as the wind picked up, blowing his cape with the tattered edges off to the side. James could see the shadow's strong hands grab the boy by the collar and spun him on his heels to match gazes. Then the boy's feet raised from the rooftop, lifted up into the air by a shadow that almost appeared as if he were not there. The shadow stepped to the edge of the roof, coming into view as he held the boy over the ledge.

Batman looked even more menacing as the light of the many torches in the square dimly glowed off his metal armor. His strong jaw also seemingly glowed as it was the only bare skin Batman ever showed. "There's your shadow right there Nigma," James dryly declared to his irritating consort. Edward's jaw dropped at the unexpected sight of his quarry. He looked unblinkingly from the armored vigilante on the roof to the drunken lord who still nipped at his whore's neck, unaware of the events happening around him. James could read the delicious expression on Edward's face as if it were scrawled in colossal writing on a piece of parchment. He was wrong, knowing that fact put a grand smile on James' lips.

He didn't have time to wonder how often Nigma had felt this emotion as he suddenly turned on James. "I do believe it is your duty to apprehend that figure up there is it not? Lest Lord Tywin shall ride down here from his rock, which I'm sure would foul his mood."

James was going to argue against him, saying that protecting the people of the square was more important than apprehending a masked vigilante who had yet to kill, rape, or steal, but he decided against it. He knew Batman wouldn't be caught by his men, and that he would lose them within ten minutes besides. "Bullock!" He called out to his captain, "Bring him in." Bullock nodded and shouted to any surrounding guards to seize the Batman.

Batman seemed to take notice of the order, as he turned his gaze down to the square. His cape was blowing in the wind at his side like black hellfire from a dragon's throat. He leaned into the boy's ear and whispered something before letting him drop. The boy fell about ten feet before his ankle caught on a line and he lay dangling from the rooftop by a foot as his arms flailed about. As two guards lagging behind the others passed James he called out to them, "You two, get up there and cut the boy down. You'll fair better at that then catching Batman." The two gave a cautious nod and changed directions to the building's front door.

Of the various times his men had tried to chase Batman over the last few weeks, they had always turned up empty handed. A few of them had seen Robin, with his brightly colored garments sticking out against the dark of night, but none had really seen more than a blur. You'll hunt me, Batman's words echoed in his head. James sighed, If that's what it takes to keep you going, so be it.

The boy was pulled up in front of James ten minutes later, kicking and writhing against the men holding him. James knelt down to stare into the young boy's dark green eyes. "So you had an interesting little voyage didn't you?"

The boy scoffed, "Let me free and I'll send your head through a voyage."

James chuckled and stood. "You've a lot a fight in you. What's your name lad?"

He finally slowed his writhing and accepted his capture. He let out a large sigh as his pent up frustration blew out between his lips. "Jason, last name doesn't matter."

"Very well Jason, take him back to my personal cells in my keep. Give him some water and some bread, he'll hold," James turned as the boy was led away. Youth, such a chaotically unpredictable thing. He remembered his time as a boy, accepting any challenge to a blunt edged sword duel he could find. The cries of applause when he won, the stinging of bruises when he lost, it was all clear in his memory. He remembered when one of the biggest bullies in Highgarden, Arnold Flass, decided to challenge James when he was five-and-ten. He was two heads taller than James, three years older, and much thicker with muscle. He was greatly wanting in wits and discipline though. James had beat him, but not without a broken rib, bloodied nose, a black eye, and an assortment of bruises. Flass had ended up with worse though, his pride had been ripped from him. Bloody fool went off and got himself killed in the war of the rebellion.

James had seen no hint of Edward since he disappeared into the crowd after Batman fled, while Bruce Wayne stayed at attention with his whore. In truth, James had stopped caring who the Batman truly was a while ago. It doesn't matter whose under there, what matters is what he does for this city. Something I can never repay him enough for.

There were no problems for the rest of the night. Lord Wayne, his female companion, his servant, and the circus boy all boarded their carriage and left. The smallfolk drunkenly found their ways back to their steads. The performers grabbed whatever spare coins they could find on the street or ale that had been left untouched and disappeared back into the maze of alleys and streets. And James, he escorted his daughter home for a restful night of peace.

Joker: Chapter 9

Joker whistled as he stepped up to the little lordling's gates. The wall wasn't as tall as Wayne Castle's, but they were sufficient enough. Two sellswords stood at attention where the thick iron gates stood together, or as much at attention as a sellsword could stand. One was leaning against a gate door picking his teeth with a knife while the other already looked rather drunk and was drinking from a horn of ale. He dropped the ale and the other readied his knife as they saw Joker approach.

"Evening sers, I'm sure old Ozzy told you what befell the last bunch of his that tried to stand against me. If I were you I'd save myself some blood and let me pass. I'm sure he'll wish to see me," Joker chimed with a beaming smile.

The men did not move, their eyes unwavering from where Joker stood. He scoffed, "Well go on, call him! Oy, I remember when sellswords were a respectable, intelligent kind."

The drunken one suddenly looked much more sober in Joker's presence, and banged on the wall for his ally to open it. He leaned behind the gate for a few moments before returning with five more sellswords. They all stood, swords drawn, for a few minutes until the gate doors opened and a man waved them in. As he passed the sellswords, Joker abruptly turned and shouted, "BOO!" Three of them dropped their swords in shock, the other two pissed themselves, but retained their grip of their blades. They would've been the ones to live longer, if by only a moment.

Joker walked in through the courtyard and was led around the small castle to its rear. It was a ghostly looking thing, with cobwebs visible even on the outer supporting arches and windows. It was a wonder how long they had remained untouched. The sellsword led Joker past some spindly trees, a bush that looked either burnt or dead, but retained its dirtied leaves, a small pool of water with dead fish floating at its surface. This place looks even drearier than what I imagine Bats must live in.

As they rounded the rear of the castle, a large wooden structure rose up, covering the entire yard from the castle to its outer walls sixty paces away. It was at least three stories tall, standing a good ten feet above even the castle's flattened roof. It had a pointed roof, and three, tall glass windows on each side, stretching the height of two men. The man led Joker in through the tall iron door with eagles, storks, hawks, swallows, and other birds engraved on it, and into the building.

Trees littered the room, of varying heights and thickness, different colored barks and leaves. Some were familiar, the oaks and cherry trees, others were clearly foreign. A tree no thicker than Joker's leg reached up to the ceiling, with long, flat leaves hanging down from its top. There was tall grass everywhere, and bright green bushes and ferns sprouting out among the blades of grass and trunks of trees. Joker followed the cobbled path that parted the sea of grass. The most bizarre, and annoying aspect of the building was its residents. Birds were everywhere, in the branches, flying through the air, on the ground, one or two even tried to land on Joker's shoulder. There was a large white crane wading through a small little pool, its beak long and bronze colored with beady little eyes in its skull. Yellow warblers and blue jays flapped over his head squabbling in a loud, raucous tongue. Joker spied more exotic birds, a peacock from the shores of the Jade Sea, its long green tail dragging behind it with its painted brown and blue eyes staring into Joker's. There was also some bright pink bird with a hooked beak and legs as thin as Joker's small finger ruffling their feathers on the opposite end of the pool from the stork.

Then Joker saw him, the squat little lord tossing crumbs out to a group of swallows on the ground. A hulking, large beast of a bird perched itself on his shoulder, its wide yellow eyes following Joker as he neared. The vulture's head was featherless, covered in leathery pink skin that looked more loose and wrinkled than that of a man a century old. An ugly bird for an ugly man.

Oswald Cobblepot did not stir from his ritual as they stopped at his left. From this side the mangled eye could not be seen, but Joker had heard tales from his men of how ugly his handiwork had scarred the fat, balding man. The ugly creature turned its head to gaze directly at Joker now. "What do you want?"

Joker smiled, "I know I have a horrible way with first introductions, but I was hoping I might, mend some bridges."

The man had a fat belly that curved out from the line of his breeches. He had on a black tunic with a silk cloak draped around his pudgy little figure. He had a long nose that peaked out from his nose in a point, and needed to waddle whenever he moved due to his stout little legs. It was hardly a wonder why people called him the Penguin, after the sigil of his house. He tossed the last of his crumbs at the bird and turned to face Joker. It had been over a month since he had last laid eyes on Cobblepot, and what his men had told him had not gave the wound justice.

The skin had healed over the edges of the glass. It must have been stuck into the skull if it had not been removed. It was still swollen, and made the fat man's face even uglier. His eye could be seen blurrily through the bottle's bottom. His mouth was in a scowl, his one good eye glaring with his brow creased down. The other brow trapped and disfigured beneath the bottle end, leaving him to look even queerer as a man. "What says I don' jus' get your head cut off? That'd make me a lovely present."

"Oh yes where are my manners, m'lord? It is m'lord yes? Although, I know not of what your family exactly presides over, seeing as Wayne's got the run of this place. What was the tale again? Your grandfather used to rule over that shithole of a city Bloodhaven down the road? And he was so awful at the job that they ran him outta' town so he settled his flock here? HA! Seems like your family has drawn its wings closed and remained held up in this coop for too long. Your father must be ashamed, oh wait a moment, I forgot, how rude of me. My deepest condolences for your loss, hehe," Joker charmed as he bowed deeply before the man and his creature of a bird. Oswald's father had passed a week ago, but since the old shrew rarely left his castle, no one had heard. Just as Oswald had hoped, Joker figured.

Joker savored the surprised expression on Oswald's non-maimed half of his face. Only his mouth's gaping was unaffected by the bottle's wound or surrounding swelling of the skin. "What's the matter you old cod? Bird got your tongue? Hahahee! Oh how I do amuse myself. It was from his old age yes? Or was it something more…devious?"

As Joker grinned wide, thoroughly enjoying Cobblepot's expression as if it were a choice flank of beef, the little lord spoke. "H-how did you?"

"How did I find out? How did I discover that your father in fact died from poison, and not his affliction of age? Why my boy, you just told me so. Now, I wonder what is to happen to his estate and wealth…oh wait a moment, that would all fall into your lap now, would it not?" Penguin glared at Joker alongside his creepy, winged monster.

"I want your head," he growled. "Aye, and I want to make you a deal," Joker replied tauntingly.

Oswald blinked, not expecting an offer to come from his threat. "A deal of what? You aren't going to talk your way outta' this you pale-faced freak. I'm gonn' hav' your head on a platta' and feed it to ole Serene ere'." The beast on his shoulder either squawked or cackled or some monstrous combination of the two as its beaks parts maniacally. Joker winced at the unpleasant sight of the two creatures in front of him before combing a hand through his hair and replying, "Yes well, as much as I would love such an experience I must politely decline. I will however, offer you an, opportunity. You work with me, and we'll take over the city together. I have need of your swords and men, they'd be most helpful."

The fat nobleman scoffed, "And what do I need you for?" Before he could take his next breath, Joker was at his throat with a knife. The bird tried pecking its beak forward aiming for Joker's face, but he grabbed it by the neck and held tight until it stopped its writhing. The sellsword behind him drew his blade but made no further steps when the blade at his bank's neck began wetting with blood. Oswald winced at the pain. Joker stared into the noble's one good eye and his voice grew dark, and coarse. "You need me for the fear. Who would be afraid of you? You're a fat little man with a big bird on his shoulder. You wield umbrellas and bread crumbs, not blades. You've killed your father for his gold, aye, good for you, but you did it with poison, a woman's weapon. I use my hands, knives, nasty little mixtures that will sear your flesh to the bone. I am the true face of crime in this world. I am the ugly face no one wishes to look upon. Now, you can choose to hold onto this grudge against me for that bottle in your face if you wish, but ask yourself, will that get you anywhere? When I take Gotham to the sound of laughter and cries of anguish, which side will you choose to be on? The side that laughs and cries, or the side that wins," Joker snarled. The fat man's face was white, even his bird was trying to pull away from Joker's grasp to fly off. Joker laughed as he let go of the two of them and stood straight, "Hahehe, oh Cobblepot don't look so piss-less, I was only japing, of course. Now what do you say to my offer then, ey' Ozzy?"

Oswald straightened himself and brushed his hand down his tunic to smooth it out. Serene took flight from his shoulder to find shelter up in some high branch. "Very well Joker, I'll work with ya' on this, but if you cross me, you'll be beggin' the Otha' to take mercy on your sorreh' soul. And don't be callin' me Ozzy, if you don't gotta' use your name I don't wan' mine. It's Penguin now, Lord Penguin. Yeh', I like the sound of that."