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Who: The Joker and Re-l
When: Early evening (before Sirens)
Where: Industrial Sector
Summary: Re-l finds a madman who is steadily growing madder...
Warnings: Violence/Joker

The old mirrors in the abandoned apartment were smashed. He'd done it with his own bare knuckles, trying to destroy that ghoulish, grinning creature that had been sneering at him from the glass. A creature that was at once alien and familiar.

Now he lay on his back on the moth-eaten old couch, staring at the toxic blood that flowed down his chalk white hands. He felt no pain, only vague interest and a troublesome sense of detachment, as if the hands were not his own. Between his ears, two lifetimes worth of memories crashed together, now running parallel, now intertwining. He could not tell where one ended and the other began.

The old comedian folded his hands over his eyes and screamed into the dusty rafters.

This is it, old man, you're really coming apart now. You're losing your mind an inch at a time.

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If she could find an immigrant and a Proxy in the vast wasteland back home, then she could find a crazed clown's hideaway.

She knew he had various boltholes in the city. Hell, she'd found one. It shouldn't be so hard to find another, even if it took her days. And it did, unfortunately, as she put her tracking skills to good use. Joker hadn't been around the city in nearly half a week and any sort of 'trail' he might left of bodies, joke traps, or crimes. She had to look in his older haunts, in the places he might go to get away from people.

Whatever had happened, it had caused more damage than anything else that had happened to him in Siren's Port. And that was a problem.

As the sun began to dip behind the buildings, leaving her about an hour left of sunlight, she knew she had to find him soon or turn in. And as she continued through the industrial sector, checking one final building, she finally heard him scream. She made her way up the stairs and into the upper halls, following the sound until she found a half-opened door. With her hand on her shotgun, she peered inside...and found him alone, his hands bleeding. She slowly wandered into the room, watching him warily. "Joker."

He stirred and slowly lowered his hands from his face, his gaze sliding towards the door where a young woman stood. There was something familiar about her.

"You came back!" he cried and leaped to his feet and flew towards her.

Rebecca.

He wasn't sure where the name came from, but it sprang to his mind quickly. Half of him quivered in grief at the name. The other recoiled. No, not right, you've got it wrong.

He pulled Rebecca into his arms and kissed her. It was the deep, passionate kiss of a long lost lover.

Came back? She quirked a skeptical eyebrow as he jumped to his feet. "I wasn't even here before. How could I have 'come back'?" He made his way towards her and she instinctively set one foot back, ready to move, ready to strike. Her hand slid off of the gun in some primal instinct to ready her claws and get him to back off--

She didn't expect him to pull her against him and to kiss her, of all things. Her eyes were wide in horror and she shoved back against him, prying his mouth off of hers.

"Get off!" she shouted, claws out, eyes narrowed. "I mean it, Joker. Let go."

It was the shouting of his name, more so than the shoving, that caused his kaleidoscopic memories to suddenly shuffle into place like the reels of a slot machine. JOKER. I am the Joker. When did I become the Joker?

Joker recoiled from her with a jerking movement, as if he were snapping out of a deep sleep.

"Officer," he grumbled. "What a clever little hound you are, always chasing me down and showing up at the worst moments."

He slouched back towards his couch and quirked a brow at the shattered glass in the corner.

"And what the devil did you do to my mirror?"

Edited 2012-03-19 03:20 (UTC)

She was just grateful he pulled himself away before she had to make him. She stepped away, fingers returning to normal. She scowled at him just as he did the same at her, and she took a moment to survey what sort of dump he'd put himself into.

"Maybe if you'd stop giving me reasons to hunt you down, I wouldn't have to. You could always just go to St. Teresa's and be done with it, as I've suggested so many times before," she scoffed. The room was dingy, messy, and full of his usuals. No bed, obviously. He wasn't using this place long. She was lucky to have found him here.

Re-l turned her eyes to the mirror, frowning. "I didn't touch it. I just walked in here." She looked back at him, then to his hands. "You're bleeding."

Joker grimaced at her.

"I'm sure I'll be back in my cell before long."

He waved a scolding finger at her. "Every show needs its entr'acte, you know!-Oh!"

Now he noticed the blood seeping down his knuckles and between his fingers. For a moment, he admired the contrast it made against his skin. Such a funny color.

"I am bleeding!"

He couldn't remember hurting himself, not that that was unusual. But this wound was fresh. He struggled to remember how it happened, and felt his own mind creak under the strain.

She rolled her eyes. Entr'acte, really. They didn't need more deaths.

Re-l paced the small space between them, watching him critically. He was off, losing it, and he wasn't making any sense. He was hurt and yet didn't even notice? She frowned at him.

"You didn't realize it before?" How long had he been bleeding?

She stepped towards him, looking down at him. "Look, you can get medical attention if you go back to the asylum. Whatever's happened to you..." - whatever had done this to him - "...you can get some help."

"HELP!?"

Joker snarled and lunged towards her, slamming her against the wall in a cloud of dust.

"I am beyond help!"

The way she was looking at him made the venom rise in his blood. Like there was something wrong with him. Part of him knew there was something wrong. That part said he'd always been this way. Another part of him felt like he'd only always been this way for a few days, and that realization made his head spin all over again.

"You don't want me to get help anyway, do you? You just want to see the big, bad clown behind bars!"

Her back smacked the wall behind her and she struggled in his grip, nearly growling in her anger. Her eyes narrowed, locking with his.

"You're the one who keeps saying that, but have you even tried? Have you ever just tried to stop killing people, to go back and try to just be a normal person and put your talents to a non-violent use?" Bruce never told her if he did or not. Frankly, she couldn't imagine him doing anything more than killing others. But she was certain that there was something that could be done. They didn't need to resort to killing him.

She struck out at his legs in an effort to free herself. "If you'd seek help, maybe people wouldn't want to see you behind bars! You can help yourself, goddammit, if you just try!" She strained her head back to watch him with a critical eye. "Do you even want to be saved?"

"Want!?"

He focused a bloodshot eye upon her. One set of memories did not need saving, the other did not desire it. What was she talking about?

"No I don't want to be saved!"

Joker seized her by the throat and shook her violently.

"I love what I do, little missie! And I'll keep doing it! Because it's fun."

She figured he would say that. Her eyes narrowed. "Then why would you ever expect someone to want to really help you in return if you don't make an attempt on your own, or if you don't really want it?"

Her talking was cut off with the hands around her throat. Her eyes flew open wide and she kicked angrily at him, her hands tugging at his wrists.

Re-l tried to keep herself focused through the shaking, her body twisting in his grip. "Let go!" she choked out.

"I don't expect help from anyone!" Joker yowled. "You goody-two-shoes just keep offering it."

He released her when she started kicking again and backed up, feeling bruises already starting to bloom on his legs.

"I can't be saved. I'm a monster, remember!?"

Not a monster, something sighed within him. A man.

Memories came flooding back. Memories of a wife and family that may never have existed. He was not standing here right now. He was at home, watching TV, while his kids played in the next room.

The comedian dropped onto the couch and blood trickled from his nose.

Edited 2012-03-19 16:38 (UTC)

She struggled to breathe. Her brooch pressed down into her windpipe painfully as she watched him, her eyes locked on his. The rage behind his eyes bore into her, effectively silencing her when she should have at least been trying to get him to let go. Luckily, she didn't have to; he let her go and she pressed herself back against the wall, coughing to clear her throat.

I'm a monster, remember!?

Re-l frowned and waited for him to move away before she spoke, her voice cracking once and sounding raspy at first. "Is that just your excuse to get away with everything you do?"

Monsters. It's always monsters, isn't it? Vincent hiding behind the mask of Ergo Proxy, Bruce behind his cowl, and Joker... What did he hide behind? His jokes, his laughter, because in reality something was chewing him up on the inside? Or was she really just chasing ghosts with him? What if he really was always going to be like this?

She caught sight of the blood on his face. "What the hell made you snap?"

His eyes grew distant and he sat back, shoulders relaxing.

What the hell made you snap?

He was not certain, that was the problem. At one point, a long time ago, he'd become the Joker. Or not. No, he had, because he could see it in his own flesh. Then what happened to the comedian? Why did he have a lifetime worth of memories as both? He could not possibly have crippled Gordon's daughter the same day he took his wife to Florida. It made no sense. And yet he clearly remembered both.

Was the date a lie? It must have been. But then what else had he only imagined?

Why was he a clown?

"I don't know," his answer was flat and humorless.

The fact that he's backing off, that he's calmed down and has settled himself for the moment should satisfy her. In fact, she should walk out of the room and call for backup. Maybe she will, too, in a few minutes...because she hasn't be satiated, hasn't gotten her answers. If anything, he's provoked more questions.

But he truly doesn't know. She's not going to get anything real out of him, not really. There is, however, one troubling thing.

"How do you not know? Don't you remember?" Joker, with the near-perfect memory when it came to his kills, to the people who wronged him? And he didn't recall what had happened? "You have no idea what happened to push you this week?"

This week?

Has it only been a week? Or a lifetime?

He looked into the middle distance and frowned. She was messing with him. A trick question.

When his gaze slid back to hers, it was feral.

"How far away are the rest of the cops!?"

His voice was low, demanding, and accusatory.

She should have expected he wasn't going to answer. Still, she had to try, and her annoyance was plain on her face when he switched topics. This wasn't going anywhere.

She folded her arms across her chest. "They're not coming...yet." She'd simply need to radio them once she'd gotten a moment, but she was hoping he'd come without issue first. (Fat chance of that happening, Re-l.)

"I'm giving you the chance to come quietly and get help first. You're obviously hurt; you need medical attention. And then you can go back to the asylum and someone can figure out what the hell's gotten into you."

"You call this hurt?"

Joker stood now, ignoring the blood on his knuckles. "I've been far worse and I don't need your pity!"

He advanced towards her with the prowl of a seasoned predator, venom in his eyes.

"How dare you pity me!?"

She stood her ground, unafraid, even with the height difference and the anger burning in his eyes.

"I'm not looking down on you, goddammit." She wasn't. She didn't loathe him or feel like he deserved to get away with what he did because he was some lowly creature. In fact, she didn't know how she felt about him, whether she felt sorry for him or if she simply felt regret that there was nothing to be done for him or for the city beyond locking him away. He can't, and won't, change.

Re-l settled her hand on her handgun. "Back off, Joker. Last warning."

He sneered.

"Or what? Or you'll kill me?"

A cackle rattled from his throat. Part of him wanted her to shoot. He longed for a burning wound that he could latch on to and define as real. Nothing else seemed real these days. Fantasy and reality were flowing into each other nonstop and it was not funny anymore.

"Then do it, officer."

He braced himself, giving her a clear shot. "Put a bullet in this wicked old noggin."

Edited 2012-03-21 02:50 (UTC)

Every single time.

She should draw the gun, point it to his pasty head, and pull the trigger. How many AutoReivs had she killed when they tried to rip her in half? How many Darkness monsters had she torn through? It should be so goddamn easy by now to pull a gun out of her holster and fire it. No one would blame her. The police could even cover it up for her.

But she thought of Vincent, begging her to do it just to get out of his duty. And she thought of Bruce Wayne and Miles Edgeworth, both who always flinched at the sound of a gunshot, let alone the idea of murder. And, again, she couldn't do it.

Her hand left the holster. "No."

Joker tapped his temple.

"That's your problem, toots, you never take the shot. All bark and no bite!"

He put an arm around her shoulder and leaned into her personal space so he could purr into her ear.

"So what's your sob story, eh? Why don't you ever pull the trigger?"

She scowled, trying to slip out of his grip. She didn't want him that close and she almost had the mind to pull out her gun just to hit him with it. As it was, one of her claws nearly reformed in an attempt to spook him off of her.

"I don't have a sob story. Everyone else does."

And she hated that. She couldn't do anything without losing the respect of those around her.

"I just respect life more than murderers do."

When she tried to slip away, his arm tightened into a choke-hold and he snickered. Respecting the sanctity of life was such an adorable personality flaw.

"Life ain't sacred, you know," he chirped. "Life's wasted on...," he waved his bleeding hand, searching for the right words.

"...The living. It's all pointless."

He tilted his head thoughtfully.

"But listen to me! Nearly explaining the joke!"

With this, his grip tightened, and he started dragging Re-l towards the stained window.

"Everyone on this rock has a sob story. Wanna know mine?"

Nearly dragged up onto her toes at the hold he placed on her, Re-l twisted in his grip like an animal on a chain. Her eyes narrowed and she tried to kick him again to get free until he began to drag her towards the window.

She hadn't really thought that he'd actually try to kill her. Not now. But she still pushed to try and get out of his grip.

"Does it have to do with Batman?" she sneered angrily.

Joker felt the muscles in his arm groan as he pulled. Re-l was strong. Stronger than she looked....that was worth remembering.

"Actually, lovely, my problemo is that this old serpent can't find his head!"

I don't know where I begin and end

Once he'd managed to get Re-l far enough across the floor, he heaved her towards the window.

"Alley-oop!"

He wasn't actually going to toss her out that window, was he? Re-l's eyes widened as he dragged her nearly to the precipice, and then she made one last ditch effort to slide out from his grip.

It didn't help. Instead, it put her right at the proper angle for him to nearly through her through the glass. She shouted in alarm, hands going out to grab at the side of the window opening. It did little to actually shield her from the glass and she only succeeded in cutting her hands, but she did manage to grab hold of the ledge before she completely fell.

She cursed loudly at the glass in her palm. "Goddamn you, Joker!" she shouted, trying to pull herself back up.

Joker laughed at the expression on Re-l's face. Confusion and anger.

"Sorry, sweetie, Daddy's got a lot to do!"

He kicked out with one long, powerful leg, driving his Cuban heel into her knuckles. With each strike that name echoed around in the dusty corners of his fevered brain.

Batman
Batman!
Batman!

Batman was the key to solving his problem, he was sure of it. He had to find Batman.

Edited 2012-03-24 01:07 (UTC)

The first time he struck down on her fingers, she pushed out her claws in retaliation, to try and get a better grip. The second time, she was sure she felt something break in her hand. And the third time, with the glass digging into her skin and the numbness in her fingertips, she couldn't stop herself from losing her grip. Her claws raked down the side of the building and she cried out once more, pain shooting up her hands and into her arms.

Instincts took over. She twisted in the air, not unlike a cat, in an effort to land on something better than her back or her head. She succeeded, landing on her feet--

And immediately lost her footing, falling backwards, her back and head striking the pavement. It could have been worse, of course, but it was enough to stun her and send the world on its axis, spots flying in front of her eyes. Pain shot up her body. Shit--!

Joker watched Re-l fall without actually seeing her. His face clouded over with the dazed expression of someone who'd just survived an air raid.

He was thinking of the Batman. Something, something deep and almost animalistic, gnawed at his mind.

Yes! Find him. The Bat!

The Clown Prince-or maybe it was a struggling comedian-or maybe a circus ringleader-or an astronaut-pulled away from the window and vanished into the shadows of the old apartment. He left on his quest without leaving his usual taunt hanging in the air.

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