[The Joker weaves his way through the alleys of the industrial district. Around him, homeless men and women scoot against the wall to clear room for his passage. He does not look at them, or even acknowledge their existence.
Batman is gone. He can feel it in his bones. With no Batman there is no Joker and the clown has a few things to clear off his bucket list before he dies.
He pauses near the entrance to the old lab and sees footprints in the dust. Fresh ones. At first he thinks it might be that the cops have finally stumbled on another of his bolt-holes, but then...what is that smell? His nose crinkles at a smell like burning plastic coming from inside and he slinks down, quietly.
When he sees a young man standing over his old supplies he leans against the doorframe.]
no subject
Batman is gone. He can feel it in his bones. With no Batman there is no Joker and the clown has a few things to clear off his bucket list before he dies.
He pauses near the entrance to the old lab and sees footprints in the dust. Fresh ones. At first he thinks it might be that the cops have finally stumbled on another of his bolt-holes, but then...what is that smell? His nose crinkles at a smell like burning plastic coming from inside and he slinks down, quietly.
When he sees a young man standing over his old supplies he leans against the doorframe.]
Oh, dearie me, do I have a squatter?