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Torn and Frayed (Part 2)

Oct. 16th, 2008 | 04:42 pm
mood: calmcalm
music: "Wish you were here" by Pink Floyd

Title: Torn and Frayed
Disclaimer: None of the characters are mine/belong to me, and I’m just toying with them. I also have no real idea of what Rachel was wearing before she died, so just me guessing.
Rating/Warnings: R, some swearing, violence, very graphic scenes.
Summary: What if it was a total hoax? What if Rachel never died, and it was all part of The Joker's plan to unravel all of the Gothamite's already frail minds?
Character's/Pairings: The Joker/Rachel (Dark!Rachel, I suppose), bits of Harvey and Bruce.
Genre: Drama/Angst





I suppose it is much more comfortable to be mad and know it, than to be sane and have one's doubts.  ~G.B. Burgin
 

 

Rachel was almost certain her nose was broken. Tears trailed down her cheeks, and she had withered and twisted in the grasps of the yelling, frustrated goons.
Endless curses and screams burst forth from her, and she had whacked her head on the side of the van's sliding door, and her vain attempts of escape echoed with out the darkened streets, in the slim hope Bruce, at any minute, would glide down and hold her, just take her in his arms so she could cry. Rachel guessed she hoped as much because he always did, even at the most inconvenient times.
All she remembered where blurred masks, hiding the irritated faces with mistrusting smiles, growing further up their faces like the very man she wished to destroy. No, to kill would be so...quick.
She would tear and rip and torture and burn every exposed bit of fucking flesh she could find, and she would be damned if these meaningless junkies could stop her.
One of them had pulled her head back, while the others desperately tried to stop her without crashing the van. She didn't care. The first thug who had unplugged the phone had reached back from the steering wheel and backhanded her hard around the face. Her nails dug into and scraped every bit of exposed skin she could find, before finally some guy found the balls to shout 'Fucking enough!' and punch her straight in the face.
So much crimson blood had poured down her face Rachel and spluttered and chocked on her own words, and her mouth become a slurred mix of fury and the burning, copper-like tang of blood and the linger of petrol that still downed her.
When they arrived to their destination, Rachel was shoved out the door, and blood cascaded down her shirt, splattered into her eyes and made her spit and convulse while being dragged along into where ever she was headed.
Rachel's world spun, continuously, ever-being tilted to the side, groaning and heaving as she moaned, and was slammed heavily onto a chair, were she coughed and spluttered until icy coolness splashed on her face, wetting her hair, trickling down her neck and washing away the now drying blood.
She almost screamed when she saw his face, sweaty, deformed and proud, inches away from her own.
His makeup had nearly wasted away completely, the white skin had trickled down from his forehead, revealing smooth, tanned skin, and his eyes had the same eerie humor and dripping black eyeliner, his smile smudged and penetrating.
Rachel hated how his smug gaze raped her, entered her one weakness and slowly tore it apart, took all her secure and safe recognitions and twisted them into something much more sinister and destroyed her foundations and one hope for maybe forgetting Bruce and just being Rachel.
"Howuhzat?" he giggled, leaning back and rocking on his heels. He wasn't wearing his signature purple jacket, and instead had a flashy green vest over an intricately patterned shirt.
His hair, green and matted and tinged with golden and brown stuck to his neck and dirty skin, and he paced slightly around the open room, which contained merely the one chair Rachel was tied to, a rickety wooden table piled with newspapers and magazines, all seeming to contain lots of articles including either himself or batman or Harvey or herself, most of them scribbled on, words pasted on and destroyed beyond recognition.
"Now, Ms. Dawes...or, rather, would that be, missuz?" he snorted, spinning around to face Rachel, whose face was still soaked and a frozen picture of utter hatred.
He grinned, and then continued.
"I have an ah, extremely busy schedule, and I would very much appreciate it if you would, urh, not interfere, like my...men here have not hesitated to point out-tuh" he hummed, using his thumb to wipe a bit of dripping water that ran down from her eye that much resembled a tear, which she hated it for.
Rachel realized how oddly he spoke, skipping the vowels and accentuating the t's, and how his tongue dragged over his teeth and darted out to moisten his scars, and barely even noticed the blood that tickled and swam around her feet until his eyes wandered down her body and violating her like he did so often, and drifted to the bright crimson that pooled under her.
He moved in, his hand placed on the sides of the chair, cornering her like the captured, defenseless mouse she was.
"To tell you the truth" he growled into her ear, and she felt the bumps of his blemishes and mutilations that tickled her lobe, and she barely held onto her disgusted and terrified retch "your blood would be so much more...mmmm" he mumbled, his sweaty locks brushing her own as he shifted "buuutiful" he ended the last word with a purr, nibbling her earlobe and moving slowly to the other ear.
"I couldn't let him be so, ah, disrespectful to my Rachel! No, nobody makes you bleed but ME!" he roared the last part, and his sudden mood swing was obvious as he sprung upwards, the animal-like hiss that escaped him made Rachel wince.
He looked down at her once more, baring his rotting, sickly-yellow teeth in a monster-like grin, which half way mutated into a snarl.
"Infaaact, I think I've been much to, ah, ha, ha, oh, he, charitaa-bul, to my once thug...but I'll let you be the judge, hmm?" he purred, reaching behind her and dragging out a fucking disgusting image of what was once a man.
His eyes, wide and terrified, seemed only magnified by the gag-induced, ear-to-ear grin that had been etched up his features, perfect in every way but how it made Rachel want to scream. His stomach, or what had been his stomach, was torn open, leaving nothing but a costume-like emptiness. His rib-cage, intestines, the entire fucking contents of his insides had been emptied out. The cut travelled up to his shoulders, where he hung by a simple purple coat hanger, which The Joker held as if his greatest possession. The man's head hung sullenly, but still gave her that goddamned fucking smile.
Rachel heaved to her side, letting the filling of what had been the only food she had eaten in awhile pour out of her, and she retched and puked until she couldn't breath any longer, and she sat there, swearing and coughing as the putrid taste loitered in her mouth, and the fouler stench of the emptied man hit her like a wave of everything she was afraid of.
Meanwhile, The Joker had thrown the hollow bag of a man onto the floor, and sat on the old table seemingly uninterested, yet still half-delighted at her reaction.
His eyes narrowed, and a bunch of men, all dressed in police uniforms, walked into the room and one whispered something in The Joker's ear.
He flashed a smile at rachel, waved of the men and waltzed over, the grin never fading, and bent down on his knees, his black eyes holding gaze with hers.
"Noooooow" he purred, elbowing her legs apart so he could fit inbetween them. She struggled, and ropes dug in and burnt, she withered and bucked, but a firm pair of hands came down on her shoulders and kept her in place.
"I've got business, huuuney. Be good" was all he moaned into her ear, whilst he poked her nose playfully with his finger, and he stepped over her legs and grabbed his purple coat which hung idly on a thug's arm.
The door slammed behind them, leaving Rachel alone with her thoughts and the hollow man who lay across from her.
Her eyes swam with tears, which both were a mixture of utter hatred, soiltary and disgust, and she heard the car start, distant and untouchable, from outside.
Her gaze wandered to the window, which was large and thick, were the city was gaing back at her,tall and threatening and everything she wanted to save and preserve and now never could. And all the fear and sadness that se had fought to overcome just poured out, and she retched and cried until finally she was left sitting there, head hung and in practically the same position she was in last night.
Rachel's whole composed ordeal just shattered around her, and the walls seemed to grow closer, press down on her, made her breathing constricted and short, uneven and heavy. The growing darkness seemed to dance and laugh, mock her endlessly, and she was there, screaming and protesting and just begging, begging for some one to hear her.
Until, finally, painfully, she was on the floor, withering and bucking in the arms of the impending future, breaking the chair and ropes to little bits just as he had to her, and the cuts and burns that covered her skin barely mattered as she rolled about in a futile way.
And she was on the floor, scattering up like some newborn foal, clumsy, long-legged and confused and new. Until finally she was running, sore and wild-eyed and crazily and she wrenched open the door, sweating and bleeding and flying down stairs, tripping on her shaky feet and hauling herself up while bolting down fleets of stairs four at a time.
And so it was she slammed through the doors, out in the dark and confusing streets, and so it was, with utter desperation, she ran harder and faster, pumping her arms and feeling the whip of air against her wounds. Rachel ripped of her jumper, dumping it to the dirty sidewalk to have, stumbling and falling around the corner, gasping for breath and hoping, wishing for him to be gone forever, to never return, just to disappear and leave them all to how she wanted it.
But, and for too soon for her own liking, her mind came back down to were she was standing. And for the short, indescribable second, she felt nothing. No hatred, or confusion, not even love at this point. Because she was standing in front of the giant billboard that resided on this particular street, and most streets scattered around Gotham. And Harvey's kind, blue eyes stared down at her, his blond hair captured perfectly and the slight smile that lingered on his lips dancing down at her.
And for that moment, it was like some kind of recognition, like something that would be displayed in a funeral, were Rachel would ascend up steps and stop, turn to his friends, family, his people, and tell them the truth.
That Harvey's fate was sealed. And hers, and Bruce's and everyone in this city.
And it would be the truth no one would accept, or want to ever accept, and would forever refuse, and live in this endless, oblivious lie that one day this city would be good, would be right, would be sane.
This city's fate had been sealed.
By one, smiley faced clown.
Who had promised to make everything burn. And it all did in the end, didn't it?
Because the good guys don't always win, and maybe they weren't even the good gusy anymore, there was nobody to judge.

Rachel was crying. Not laughing, no, she was crying.
Because now, she could see what he saw.
Her fate was sealed.

 


 

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Torn and Frayed

Oct. 15th, 2008 | 06:54 pm
mood: draineddrained

Title: Torn and frayed
Disclaimer:  These characters are NOT mine. All belong to Chris Nolan, DC, WB, etc. (I don't know what Rachel was wearing before she died, so I just guessed :S)
Rating/Warning: PG-13 I guess, violence, swearing, some grotesque scenes, uhm...might reach R? Dunno.
Summary: (I kind of like the idea that Rachel survived, and it was all The Joker's plan just to see if he could destroy a man's sanity from just one bad day.) What if her death had been a hoax? What if Rachel was somewhere, some-THING, nobody could ever touch?
Characters/Pairing: Joker/Rachel (A very screwed up Rachel, really, no Joker mentioned in this first chapter), a bit of Harvey, mentioning of Bruce.
Genre: Drama/Angst





Might we not say to the confused voices which sometimes arise from the depths of our being: 
"Ladies, be so kind as to speak only four at a time?"
~Madame Swetchine

 
She was laughing, uncontrollably. Or maybe she was crying. She'd lost all thought and recognition. Her shoulders were shaking, her sides threatened to burst, creaking and shifting under her restraints.
Her hair had stuck to her face, her skin burned and her every breath shook her entire body, she felt like she was slowly, incredibly, painfully slowly bleeding, being torn from the inside out.
Her eyelashes felt heavy, like led had been attached to every part of her willing to move. She whithered from under the ropes, which and burned her skin. A bubble of laughter, a bubble of pure and utter fear, escaped her lips. Or was that him? Or Harvey?
She couldn't open her eyes anymore.
It was petrol. She was covered in fucking petrol. She screamed some more, and the coppery, toxic taste dripped down past her lips, into her mouth. She gagged, spitting a mixture of saliva, her last lunch and brown liquid that also stained her jumper and jeans unto the concrete floor.
Harvey's panicked screams echoed into the phone, wriggled into her ears and broke into her, making her jerk and convulse. She imagined his smile, crimson and bumped and ruined, reaching up further, rotting teeth, browning, bared and hysterical, black irises, dancing, so fucking humorous.
"Can anyone...hear me?" she chocked, her throat stung and quivered, her eyes stuck together, and her knees continuously knocked painfully together.
There was a pause, horrible, disgusting, seemingly hours long and betraying. He doesn't care...
"Ra-Rachel? Is that you?" he stuttered, he was far away, dripping from her hearing range, her heart raced, then slowed. We're both dead. Even if Bruce comes. We're both DEAD.
Rachel had never heard Harvey so defeated. So damned vulnerable, and every second that passed, more petrol stung and covered her. 'Act' was her only instinct.
"Harvey...you're ok...I thought" she tried, god she tried, but her lips quivered, shook and broke, and a sob was set free. "Jesus" she whispered, spitting more gunk and shit onto the floor.
"It's OK, Rachel. Everything's going to be just fine"
She shook with hatred, disbelief and convulsed into a state of total outrage. The word 'fine' seemed to echo endlessly around her racing mind, rattling her brain, shaking her last thread, the one string that held her upright, threatening to snap under her fucking anger.
He's lying. He's lying! To you. YOU! Doesn't that just...just take the fucking cake?
She desperately tried to get rid of him. To shake away his lies. But they weren't lies, were they? They were truths no one wanted to accept.
Rachel refused to think like him. But Harvey was spluttering, maybe crying on the other end, and it sickened her.
"Don't lie to me" she whispered, barely audible above the hum of bad connection over the speakers.
"Can you move your chair?" came a desperate, despicable, crackling question. Rachel swallowed, and oil and petrol and some other crap swirled in her mouth, made her shake and heave.
It's HARVEY. She reminded herself. Tell him, now, now. NOW!
"No. Harvey, look, we don't have much time, we--" she stammered, still retching on the taste that lingered on her mouth, her skin. She heard scuffling, moving.
"Look for something to free yourself..!" Harvey groaned.
And then, Rachel remembered. She gasped in shaking, torn breaths, her body shook and her arms and legs turned irreversibly numb, and she breathed out, and she remembered. She couldn't fucking forget.
"They said only one of us was going to make it. That they'd let our...friends choose." she sobbed, and her shoulders slumped, and her heart, once pumping fats and loud in her ears, slowed and ebbed into almost oblivion.
Oh, Rachel, you don't have any real friends...do you know what THAT means?
Shut up! Oh, what was she doing? She could still hear him!
There was a loud bang, a collapse, and her breath caught slightly on her throat, the coppery taste of blood and the tang of petrol mixed on her tongue.
"Hu-Harvey, what's going on?" she rasped, her eyes stinging and her fingers desperately wanting to grab something, anything, just to hold on and slowly slip away, sleep, and to never wake.
"Nothing. I'm trying to..." oh, his voice was desperate, so far, so damned FAR. Rachel shivered, and she hung her head, breathing slower as her hair, wet and mussed, slowly unattached from her skin, from her burning, aching cheeks.
"Harvey, in case...I want you to know something..." she choked, her voice no longer able to stay unwavering, and everything around her, on her and inside of her just broke, just totally shattered. She was as good as dead. They both were.
"No, don't think like that, Rachel. They're coming for you" Harvey stuttered, his voice also breaking into utter discontent. She hated herself for saying what she was about to. It'll only make it harder...
"I know" Rachel sobbed, her voice box aching with every letter she uttered "But...I don't want them to..."
Here it comes. The final goodbye. The big she-bang. The famous...last...words.
"I don't want to live without you. Because I do have an answer. And my answer is yes..."
There was no answer. There was a bang, a roar, a growl. Oh, Harvey...thank GOD.
"NO! Not me...WHY did you come for ME?!"
Rachel was crying. She was sobbing and retching and breaking with happiness and utter defeat.
"RACHEL!!!"
Her shoulders were shaking, her entire body was heaving. He's safe, oh my god, he's SAFE.
"Oh Harvey, Harvey it's OK" and this time, she meant it. Like he never did. She had never been so overjoyed in her entire life. He was there, breathing, continuing on as what he should be.
"RACHEL!!!"
The counter ran out.
"Oh Harvey, somewhere--" then nothing.
Just utter and total and complete zilch. A long, endless beep.
A man with a clown mask on had unplugged the phone. He looked up at her, then signalled for two more masked goons to untie her. Rachel blinked. Once. Twice.
"Oh, fuck no..." she stuttered "No, no no no no NO!"
'Dear Bruce, I need to explain'
"You jesus-fucking-christ MONSTER!" Rachel roared, withering and screaming in the grips of The Joker's hired men.
'...I need to be honest and clear. I'm going to marry Harvey Dent...'
"YOU DISGUSTING, FOUL, HORRIBLE THING!"
'I love him, I want to spend the rest of my life with him...'
"YOU ARE THE SCUM OF THE EARTH, I SWEAR TO GOD!"
'When I told you that if Gotham no longer needed Batman we could be together, I meant it..'
"NO! NO! YOU CAN'T! I WON'T LET YOU! NONONONO!"
'But I'm not sure that day will come...when you no longer need Batman.'
"FUCKING SCUMMONSTERHORRIBLE! HE'LL FIND OUT! I SWEAR TO GOD!..."
'I hope it does, and if it does I will be there...'
"HE DOESN'T KNOW! WHAT ARE YOU PLANNING?! OH, GOD..."
'...but as your friend. I'm sorry to let you down...'
"MMMMFGHHH! FUCKINGMFFHMONSTER!"
'If you lose your faith in me, please keep your faith in people
 ...'
"Oh, jesus...it's...GOD...get OFF!"
'Love, now and always, Rachel.'


Rachel was crying. Not laughing, no. She was crying.
This time, she had nothing to hold onto.

 

 

 

 


 

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The Joker's Kiss

Oct. 8th, 2008 | 06:24 pm
mood: contentcontent
music: "The Only One" by Paul Mac feat. Bertie Blackman


Title: The Joker's Kiss
Fandom: TDK
Rating: Uhm, R at most, some graphic words??
Characters/Pairings: Just an officer at one of the Joker's killing scenes.
Summary: A poem from a policeman's view while viewing one of our dearest Jokies many murders.



We move down grimy streets,
Brushing past rotting stenches,
Quivering creatures remain hidden,
Ah, but once we leave, they will swarm.

Crimson liquid dances in the moonlight,
Gathering under us,
Her lids are still open, and that makes it harder.

The alley's are dark,
And match her eyes,
Pale fingers twitch...
No, just a bug.

A permanent, goulish smile creeps up her smooth face,
Stains of burgundy crisp and copper,
And her grin spreads, curves and bumps,
But who wants to die frowning?

Splayed black locks coated in red,
Legs in crumpled, awkward posistions,
Can a body really be in a place so?
Bones broken, crushed, crumpling under us.

A once pretty face torn, destroyed,
Ripped, torn, killed.
What was once a skull is ripped in two.
Don't worry, he's done worse.

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But it does me no good, and it does you no good

Sep. 4th, 2008 | 06:32 pm



Story Title: But it does me no good, and it does you no good
Summary: The Joker in one of his obviously numerous interrogations, with Batsy and Gordon thrown in, and a mysterious photo is found that sends Bruce nearly overboard.
Genre: Uhm…not sure.
Pairing: Joker/Jim Gordon/Batman/Suggesting a new character
Rating: PG-13 swearing, violence-ish…
Disclaimer: God damn, I wished I owned them. Nolan/WB/DC Comics would be pissed, though.





Read more...Collapse )
“Well!” he almost yelled, throwing his hands back resting them under his head, leaning against the chair and crossing his legs, one large foot bopping to the music no one else could hear “This is nice. Y’know, a little guy time, a little manly talk”
The Joker’s eyes still rested on Bruce, and then moved to Gordon.
Two of us are dressed up” he said, pouting over-exaggeratedly at Jim “Where’s your costume?” he added mockingly, his shaggy, clingy hair sticking to his fingers as he ran a bony hand through his curly, green-gold locks.
Jim snorted loudly, his eyes now judgmental and angered as he also leaned back in his chair, his face showing he had no intention of including Batman in their conversation. Jim knew the Joker wanted to crack him first, and he wasn’t about to let him.
He had sealed his fate the moment he walked in the door, the way this man could read you like a book, just by the way you did your hair or how you walked…or how you smiled.
“I’m afraid I don’t have a favorite animal, Joker” he retorted icily, his voice dripping with both sarcasm and all the hate and anger he owned for this god damned mother fucker.
The Joker promptly burst into out right fits of insanity, clutching his stomach and letting the laughter shake his entire body.
YES!” he giggled hysterically, his attention now on Batman “Do tell us why, Bat-seee? Why a bat?” he paused, pointing a finger at Bruce and running it up and down him, scrutinizing his outfit “Is there some sorta…hidden metaphor about a flying rat?!”
Jim and Bruce’s eyes both narrowed in almost unison. This set off the Joker even more.
When his howls of utter hysteria had calmed, he grabbed his own file and began flipping through it, giggling at the certain exceedingly foul, disturbing and screwed up cases.
“Ohhh” he sighed in some sort of ecstasy as his brain wandered to the events of one of the many killings “Did I ever tell you guys this story?” he raised an eyebrow, jabbing a skinny finger at a certain page of disturbance, his grin slowly growing, sly like a fox.
He leaned forward, his voice a deep, husky whisper as he spoke, his eyebrows wiggling up and down
“It’s a good one…” he barely finished his sentence when Bruce instinctively took a step forward, his cape almost covering Gordon, and the Joker settled back slightly, not really shaken at the confrontation.
“Huh…” he muttered, scrutinizing the way Bruce and Jim acted around each other, his black eyes narrowing slightly.
“So, how does this little…relationship you’ve guys have got goin’ out work, exactly?” he jeered, sucking loudly on his teeth and entwining his fingers together, raising them slowly and resting them on his forehead, the smile plastered on his face.
“You’re perverted” Bruce snarled, leaning forward slightly “And you know nothing about relationships”
The Joker’s eyebrows shot up, his eyes widening in overstated hurt and astonishment, and he pointed a long, bony finger at himself.
Me?” he gasped, throwing his hands back once more, winding them together and leaning his head back on the interweaved fingers “No, no, no, no…I’m just an…observer. A spectator, if you will. I see what I see…” he paused, moving his head slowly back and forth to both men “And I just put it into words…”
“You ask people if they want to know how you got those scars...” Bruce stepped forward, leaning in again “Have you ever told them the truth? Do you ever remember it?”
The Joker tilted his head to one side, clicking his tongue on the roof of his mouth, the saliva making noisy, smacking noises around his gums.
“It’s probably in there somewhere” he sniggered, tapping his temple “But ya gotta get it outta me first”
Jim shook his head, as if to convince himself of something that was disturbing him.
“We just want to now who you are” he sighed, rubbing his fingers against his forehead in restraint.
“Why?” the wiry, scrawny man practically hissed “What will it achieve, dearest Jimmy?”
Gordon’s eyes closed briefly, moaning in impatience.
When there was no reply, the fingers moved back to their uneven rhythm, the cold metal vibrating at the movement, and the folder that contained all of his doings was chucked heavily to the floor, and papers scattered, photos went flying and writing wisped under the men’s feet where they stood and sat.
A Polaroid photo landed at Batman’s foot, and his hand reached the floor and back up in such a movement only the men who were closest to him would’ve noticed.
A young girl, perhaps of eighteen, maybe twenty, sat alive, her black eyes bored and unmoving, her cheeks sullen and pinched, though still indescribably beautiful.
Even with the twisting, turning curves of pinkish-red scars that ran up her smooth, lightly-tanned skin, the forever-smile that engraved into the corners of her bee-stung, luscious lips moved sinisterly upwards, the grin reaching just below her high cheekbones, though the eternity smirk was the only trace of humor in the young woman’s face. The scars practically replicated the ones that were cut on the man across from Bruce, down to the exact shade of black sewing that held the wounds together.
Her honey-blonde hair, which was streaked with natural, light traces of maroon and burgundy, reached her shoulder blades, and the silky, straight locks fell around her oval face angelically.
Her narrow shoulders were relaxed and set back slightly, and he long, lean arms, golden to perfection, hung lazily by her small curves of hips that were lightly covered with a thin, grey shirt. The rest of her was cut off, but her face alone was basically shaped into flawlessness.
Her small, button nose complimented her wide, dancing eyes, though the blackness never seemed to leave them, it just added to the anonymity that surrounded her. The eyes were paired with thick, long, coal black eyelashes that fluffed around her dainty, smooth skin in gorgeous awe and her high cheekbones and slightly low-set jaw topped off the girl’s utter beauty. Yet with the hauntingly eerie scars, Bruce was certain she was one of the most beautiful creature’s he had ever seen.
“Who is this?” he snarled at Gordon, angered for reasons he couldn’t quite grasp. Had months of this man’s torturing Gotham reduce someone to do this? It disgusted Batman beyond comprehension.
Jim studied the picture, and Bruce noticed the amazed gasp that escaped his lips that usually sat endlessly composed, and the wheeze of breath was a mixture of awe and disgust.
How could something to beautiful be so…ugly?
The Joker promptly rolled his pitch black eyes, bouncing his feet impatiently.
“A particularly dreadful case, commish?” he huffed, clicking his tongue noisily on the roof of his mouth, biting the tattered tissue that curved on the inside of his cheeks.
Jim simply shook his head, as if to shake away the image that had just been portrayed to him, his glasses slipping momentarily down his nose.
“I don’t know” Bruce practically roared, slamming the photo down in front of the now interested psychopath “You decide”
The Joker leaned in, his eyes narrowing and his tongue clicking insistently, studying the Polaroid carefully.
He slipped back, and jammed a finger on the photograph, shaking his head also.
“Nuh…” he sighed, his eyes closed “I didn’t do this”
Batman barely suppressed a snort of sarcasm. Ok, sure, whatever you say, clown
The Joker took the picture in his handcuffed hands, taking a closer inspection.
“Although…” he trailed off slightly, the grin flashing his yellow-brown teeth “It is excellent knife-man-ship-uh!”
Bruce raised an unseen eyebrow under his mask, confused and slightly irritated.
“If you didn’t do this…” he began, his voice lacking its usual smoker-like huskiness “Who did?”
“A copycat” supplied Gordon, whose eyes were scanning a discarded paper that had been under the table.
When a set of confused eyes met his, he began to explain.
“A teacher, was a fan of…urh, you” he said, waving a hand dismissively at the now excited maniac, who’s leering eyes simply grew wider in anticipation “And she was his…object. Her stalker, if you will. At her birthday, her twenty-first, he…sliced her up. She didn’t do this to herself, her teacher friend did”
The Joker tucked a rainbow-patterned suspender under his green vest, giggling to himself.
“See what influence I have on you people?” he groaned in rapture at the though of driving someone over the edge like that “It’s just…gor-guss!”
“Where is she now?” Batman snarled, ignoring the crude comment from his arch nemesis.
“Arkham…apparently she was the one diagnosed as ‘crazy’. Her family pay for her expenses et cetera, but refuse to have anything to do with her” Jim began shaking his head once more “They like to pretend they never had a daughter, basically, for reputation’s sake”
There was a pause, and the Joker’s satisfied smile only grew.
“I want to speak to her” Bruce said, firmly and without hesitation “I just…need to” he added, noting the look Gordon gave him.
 “I’m comin’” the Joker growled, and he stood and went to the door, sucking on his teeth and the inside of his mouth, his tongue darting out to moisten the red curve of a smile.
“What?” snarled Batman just as Gordon got up to, though he certainly made no move to go to the Joker’s side, or stop him in any way.
The Joker waved one hand-cuffed hand dismissively, making a slightly irritated huff noise.
“I was heading by that way anywho”
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