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20 August 2011 @ 12:16 pm
MY BODY IS A CAGE (log); PART i.  
The clowns had left the establishment, Joker not really offering up any say or idea about what he had done in his return to that shoddy and down ridden apartment complex. The ride had been uneventful, no cops, no Batman, just a long stretch through the narrows back towards the harbor side of Gotham to off load their goods and secret the transportation into one of the numerous warehouse doors. Hopping out and into the stone surface of the once lively sublet of a former docking and shipping foundry, he'd follow his one motto of not laying his hat down in one spot for too long. Already the man was moving his base of operation from one run down piss hole to another, with a guy off hauling the bags of drugs and money that Harley had used as a front for the real reason they were there. Most anyone with half a thought Joker didn't do small time jobs like that, nor anything quite as low key. Luckily Joker kept with the half thought mentality in his hired help, case in point as they wandered pass Humpty sitting at the table having poured his intrest into some sort of mechanical device. Getting one of the goons to pass off the money for counting and the drugs for sorting, he'd move to walk up to had once been the foreman's office. The man assumed Harley was behind him in tow as he'd strip off his jacket and allow it to fall from his form expecting her to catch it. Into the dimly lit room the couple would stroll, a cot and desk along with numerous cabinets and a giant glass window that had been given a woman's touch with drapes for privacy. Already the man was walking towards the dusty and possibly splintering wooden desk, neck being wrung to loosen his tie and allow himself a less constricting form of comfort. He hadn't said nary a phrase save for one word answers the entire time, and was now regarding the tattered green stretch of fabric across the desk. A exhausting sigh coming from him and allowing the man to give his shoulders a slumping, bleary blink of charcoal smeared eyes before he'd turn and lean into that edge, gloved hands propped upon to slouch against as he'd give her an almost bitter look as she'd do her thing about their lair of sorts.

No words had been spoken between the pair when he returned, she feared he was mad at her and she might have been right. She cursed herself for not doing what needed to be done, and that was to of course the kill the woman. She would have shot her, she would have, but the knife, being handed the knife was too hard for the little doll. She made orders to the men, soft ones, careful not to raise much of a notice from Joker, he was in a bad mode and it didn't take a genius to figure that one out. She moved forward, following behind him, she bent down to pick up his trench coat, hanging it up somewhere where he could find it. Then she'd continue with her rountine, removing her battle attire, she didn't care if she did so in front of him. Boots came off first dropping her a considerable amount of inches. Leather pants, stuck to her hot and sweaty skin, leaving her in flimsy panties, she'd remove the corset next --- that body soft, yet toned. Curvy of course. She was just a tiny version of a pin up. And of course it was scarred, not as badly as his of course, but a puckered, risen and smooth about of skin remained on her stomach. The old gunshot wound, a constant reminder to her, that she was a survivor and she was not to feel remorse. But of course, what had happened earlier? Pulling her pigtails from the ribbons in her hair she'd allow it to drop and hide her face. Hanging up her attire, she'd disappear into the bathroom. Running the water, she'd fresh up and then exit the bathroom dressed in her normal 'out of battle' warb. Black dress shirt, that was of course barely buttoned and a pair of panties. She noticed he was still leering at her, and that's when she had done what no one had done to him since before the killing, she spoke to him. "Puddin, I'm sorry for not killing the woman...it's just, I've never used a knife before."

His movements didn't change once while she moved about, the man now having for the most part become immune to the sight of her stripping and disrobing at this point of their lives. Not to say the woman was detestable to him, far from it, it was just now the excitement he got from her was just the thought of sex more than the sight of it. Besides, his mind was too wrapped up in other details, that while she pulled piece after piece of clothing off of herself, it was if she was reading a book. He heard the sounds of water and the slow slip of steam that rose forth, before the entrance of the squeaky clean pixie and the notice of his mood. He didn't budge when she said something to him, and Joker didn't think he was in a lousy mood persay. More befuddled, or perhaps exasperated. Whatever the case, he was sure of one thing in particular, and that was that he wanted this past week's trip down memory lane to be good and done now. And as far as he could tell, with the final body left a sopping mess, he'd had done his vengeful deed to a T and was now capable of moving on past that. Finding his voice, he'd appear to look disintrested as he spoke to her but watched the smudged and dirty window's activity at the work floor below. "I don't care that she lived or died Harley. I got what I was looking for there, and more even. The world's a... funny place. Who knows what'll crawl out from under the over turned rock."

Her face was still showing trace amounts of make up on it, it was one of those rare days that she didn't have her own set of supplies, she had to use some of his, so the cakey like grease paint was stubborn in it's removal, her eyes still showing a faint hint of sobbing tears that ran down her face. "Well if it's not dat, then you're being awful quiet for some reason." She hadn't cared that he was not looking at her, she would simply make herself noticed by him. Coming around his back, she'd lean into him and pushed her semi-clean face against his throat, her body drapping over him. Protective and blanket like, she'd listen to his words, but seemed more engulfed in the purr and rumble of his voice as he spoke and allowed it to rattle through his rib cage. A hand came out to stroke at his chest, she was obviously looking for some kind of sign that he was not upset with her for softness. "Whatta mean, you found more?" She whispered to him, her lips faintly moving against his neck as she spoke to him. Content to take her place as that second skin on the Joker.

The second skin at times was nerve wrecking, but this was not one of those times. He almost seemed to give into her coming upon him and writhing about like some sort of pet snake, that man poised to allow her to have a contact closer than anyone else had ever been allowed in a very, very, long time. Stringy green hair was left all but coiled and tamed back, allowing her free reign at that skin that past the white mask of a clown of nightmares. His tongue would dare to sneak out at his cracked lips, and he'd give her an answer. "I found answers, I can stop penciling options A and C, and realize that B was write. No more.. multiple choice. But I guess sometimes answers aren't always the ones you like the best. Maybe I'm cracking up-- more." He attempt to adjust his gaze onto her, which was more difficult with the spider monkey nature of a preening and approval seeking Harley. His hand would move to detach her and allow himself again that breathing room he sought. The desk was moved to and he would reach into his vest jacket, unpinning his signature knife and settling it upon it before reaching around his back to untuck the gun and quickly unload it before clip and empty weapon were placed next. "Get the knife out of my ankle sleeve for me Harley." If she desired a symbiotic closeness, he'd atleast get her to help him unarm, now searching through his deep pockets.

Her second skin rountine was also how the little baby doll would get to the root of his problems, or simply just be there to comfort the man who seemed to need it. She'd push her lips up against the back of his neck, kissing and cooing him, well her hand continued the calming strokes over him. Listening to him, she'd move herself closer to him and when he questioned his own sanity, she was quick, she moved to him, sharing the chair he was sitting on, her knee going to rest against it as she curved her body to look at him. "Don't say things like that, ya aint." She leaned forward as if she would dare to kiss those scarred lips, hands moving up to touch his head, but of course that action was cut short by his request. Nodding slowly, she'd lean down, allowing her body to press against his, using him to balance, and moving with all the skill of a former lap dancer, she'd grasp the handle of his knife and pull it out. Carefully, she'd return to her position no longer using him for a balance, she chose to exercise her olypmic prowless.

His hand fell upon the knife's handle and moved to settle it down across the table and in some sort of obsessive compulsive order that played out only in his head. Now allowing himself to recline a bit in the chair, his hand moved into the vest and withdrew the final object. The small cracked yellow frame, that cheap plastic illusion to springtime, and the small smiling infant within it's borders. It was if he had a momentary lapse of sanity, followed by a squint, and he'd discard it on the table as well before regarding Harley and talking to her still in the tone of a man whom was almost trying to hide their conversation from the outside world. Joker always had a way of conversing with her in the most intimate of fashions, something the had perfected in his heyday in Arkham with her. "If it makes you feel better Harley, I didn't kill her either." No sort of further indulging in the photo, instead Joker acted as if it had been just another armament, a tool of his for maiming and the like. Of course psychotic thrill killing terrorists didn't really tote around pictures of infants either.

She felt herself lose control when she saw the picture frame on the table, the woman almost toppled over him and fell to the floor but she managed to catch herself. All she could stare at was the frame and the picture of the infant in the picture frame. She had assumed the woman in the apartment was pregnant, it never crossed her mind that she had been. Harley's hesitation from the killing, came from the idea of leaving a child oprhaned. Or even killing the child. And well there was a sense of comfort to know that Joker did not kill the child, there was that question, "What did you do to her?" she whispered to the mad man, the terror was raising in her throat as she made a harsh whisper to him. Those eyes barely making contact with him, she tried to focus in on the child, trying to find the woman in the apartment in her, and the man who was there with her in the babe. "Did you just leave her there?"

He said nothing at first, he could feel the sudden shock of what Harley had realized settling on her now. The man kept himself composed however, his own sharp reatures tightening as he'd meld his lips together to reveal a stoic and ugly red frown, brows shifting upward to attempt to right whatever thought was bubbling through his head then. He was thinking now, as if the events of a mere hour ago were becoming some sort of fog while his hand pressed to his head and he continued to wrap his thoughts around just what he had done. Then the lids narrowed, and he'd begin to recite what had happened with a dour tone in his voice, the past bubbling up with liquid resentment. "Of course I left her there. Years ago, the state in it's wisdom had taken her child from her, unfit parent they said. Her honesty was.. surprising.. considering what she's become. And of course, you came in, and you took her finances, and her medicine. It's a shame you didn't leave something to help her cope, selfish little thing, taking things from her. But I suppose I was the worst of all.. after all I came in and took her husband from her." That clown would allow his head to slump forward and his hand moved to grace along her jaw line when she turned back to him and added the last part in as though it was a realization of his own. "Twice." He looked away, and rose to his full height to depart his seat. Those thumbs slipped into the straps of his suspenders, unwinding them down from his body and allowing his arms to stretch outward. The bombshell he had just dropped on Harley was dull to him, a bit of knowledge that meaned little to him. "So why not leave her there.. she's got nothing left after all."

She breathed in deeply realizing that the two clowns where talking about two different people, Harley was speaking of the child, and Joker was taking of the woman. She listened, almost as if he was painting a picture fo her. She'd been staring at him, almost if he was going to reveal he'd done one of those unforgivable things in Harley's mind, not he had not. Now she breathed, the state had takend the child from a drug addled mother, but wait, was Shane the father? Then Joker continued, what she had become, and she'd taken ordered the men to take the money and the drugs, she'd sell them or destroy them. She couldn't decide. She almost giggled at the man when he called her a selfish little thing. Leaning into his touch, she listened to the man drop the bombshell on her, twice. The realization hit her like a ton of bricks, "You were her husband, before Shane, that was your wife, Jack's wife. And that means the baby...was, yours...that's your daughter." she had spoke without thinking, and that might have been Harley's biggest mistake ever, but she could no longer contain the thoughts in her head, she spoke every single thought that ran through her mind. She began to stand, backing up against the table with all the weapons, just in case.

He turned to her, listening to her deductions as though she was giving him insights he himself wasn't aware of. When she spelled out everything that was happening, he'd stare a hole in her and notice her soft retreat from him. Was it his kid? He wasn't even entirely sure himself, but that man was advancing on her now, knowing the gun was unloaded and she was about as good with a knife as Humpty was with stairs. The man was on her now, backing her away and finding his voice and angry rasp that indicated he was upset with the prospect of what was being deduced more than she was. "Jack? Jack!?" He kept her in close quarters, cutting off any potential for her to avoid being within striking range if he flew off the handle. That poor little doll was as much his comfort toy as his pillow to scream in when he was angry. Snatching up the photo, it was placed close enough to Harley that one of those baby blues could only take in it's stained and dated imagery. "JACK!?" Her head was grabbed, scooping her skull in the back of his spidery fingers, while he started cackling now and laughing. "You stupid, dumb, girl. All this killing.. it's not been for me. It's been for you. It's always been about you." And he'd throw the picture away, a meaningless momento of times he'd never cared about in the first place, and drew up that knife she had cast away. Holding it by it's handle, brandished fiercly, he'd reintroduce her to a familiar setting. Him with that crazy look, her under duress. Wicked smile coursed his features as he'd whisper now in a loving tone, still fringed with psychosis. "Say it with me Harley. Pat's dead. Mick's dead. Shane's dead. Jack's dead."

She grasped for one of his blades as he dared to move toward it, but it felt akward in her hand and her grip was light on the blade, it was dropped quickly when she managed to slice the air near him and cut herself in the progress. She'd shriek once, and then again when he grabbed her. His favorite little punching bag was now in striking distance, being grabbed, she did something uncharacteristic for Harley, she fought with him, her bleeding palm would touch against his skin, and clothing leaving her blood all over him yet again. She moved her head as to not look at the child, if it was his, she could have seen it, and that that fucking bitch, his wife, the first one would have had something that Harley would never have. "If all this killing was for me, then you would have killed her. You would have killed her in front of me laughing." She growled, her own dementia just as bad as Joker's when it came to somethings. "You would have killed her, so she died screaming. How is all this killing for me?!" Was she scared? Yes, did she care about what he was saying, yes, but she did the best at hiding it. His loving tone rang in her ears, and she said it, "Pat's dead. Mick's dead. Shane's dead and Jack's dead."

He'd listen to her words hungrily, still more excited by all of this at the sudden gnashing of teeth by Harley than anything else. He was caught up now in the smear of her blood and the tightness that he had her in now. Listening to her try to bargain for a understanding, he'd keep his cool despite gritted teeth. Feeding into all those dead and dying souls, he'd keep that thick grin warping on his face and replying as he'd occasionally readjust his grip so as to prevent her from breaking free of his grasp. Those sharp features tightened into a scowl as he spoke to her. "How is this all for you? I made you watch each of them die for a reason. They were all loose ends, ties to past I never cared to care about until you decided to you wanted to get *serious*. So how fair is it to pull you kicking and screaming away from what you were, if I didn't show you I'm just as willing to burn it all down. Harley.. they're all dead to prove to you that you've got my undivided attention. It's never gonna matter what we were.." He was holding that wrist out, the clumsy wound leaking fluid. His free hand was moving to tear at her dress shirt and begin to force a binding on it, before a quick tie to stop the bleeding, a unintentional metaphor for his spiel. Closer, quieter, a much more intense verbal pattern to show he was being sincere as possible. "I needed.. to prove to you.. about my sincerity. Pardon me if I work things out with brutal irrational murder."

She listened, and allowed him to speak, he was right, she had been 'dragged' from her old life kicking and screaming, she was the one who wanted a commitment from him. She wanted to be his wife, she wanted the ring, she wanted the wedding, she wanted the symbolism of it all. She fought with him when she thought about his actions in the last week and how, "and yet you let the one who really mattered to me live." , she growled at him ignoring the gesture of him binding her hand, she'd care later much later. "I protected her from you, but really she needed to be protected from me. Joker, I've spent my entire life with you being everything she wasn't. Tell me that I'm not like her." And she had, she'd been the one who didn't beg him not to leave, didn't stop him from doing what it was that he loved, oh no, she'd been the one who followed blindly into his mad caps. She'd been the one painting her face just like us, not caring about scars, throwing herself into fights with the Batman, killing and getting hurt. And what did the original do? Nothing, got knocked up, hunged on drugs and managed to get her kid taken away. Her rage, well it was still there, she was able to look down and see that her hand been bound, muttering she'd add, "Thank you."

There was few things he could properly convey, it was clear Joker had a alien concept to actually explaining emotions and feelings. This was always apparent from the way he approached trying to help her comprehend exactly what had been transpiring what was occuring with all these things. Her thank you got one final tug to tighten that hand to a unnecessary tightness. His breathing was heavy and angry, though the momentary rage no longer seemed to be directed at her. That intensity didn't let up, his on words crawling up from his throat with an uneasiness. "I'm not the one who wanted her dead. That was you, and I gave you the chance." There was a sudden blasphemous smile on his face now as he'd come to realize something, his words hinting at child like teasing. "You're afraid of her. Or jealous." A spiteful laugh came from him now, unable to help how amused he was at this situation. "Go ahead Harley, be jealous of a ghost. You can keep chasing the white picket fence I never promised you long ago. Such a silly little thing you are, you know what the big difference is between you and her?" He was mounting to subdue any more struggling at her attempts to wrestle free from his mean antics, teeth shown as he'd continue to grin. "You can keep up.. and she never could. So no Harley, my dear, you're not like her. Not by a mile." There was a agonizing pause as he'd speak with that sardonic and teasing tone again, as he leaked one last little surprise on the poor frazzled co-clown. "After all.. you're still breathing." The liars smile.

She was still choosing to look at her hand instead of him, she listened to him talk, and she'd pout. Mumbling to herself about "if ya knew who I dated before you, ya wouldn't be so forgiving them to d'em." was she jealous, well she used to be very jealous of the wife, she used to hate the wife, she got what she wanted, she got the wedding, she got the "you may now kiss the bride", she got the ring and the dress. But then all of a sudden it dawned her, her understanding of Joker before, he became Joker was this, he was not a rich man, oh no, he was a powerful man. Harley got a wedding, he stole it for her, he got her a much prettier ring then the wife did, she got the kiss in the middle of a gun fight. And then he told her what she longed to hear, she could keep up, she was everything the wife couldn't be, she was murderer, she was a professional get away car driver, she was loyal, she was his back up. "I used to be..." she said holding up the hand that was bound, and the hand that had her giant rock and wedding band on it. Smiling, she looked up finally. He told her that she was still breathing, and with him that close to her, she reacted the only Harley could when it came to killing and Joker, and of course the killing being his wife. She'd lean forward as her lips, full and pouty pushed up against Joker's, he killed her? He would be rewarded, she'd make sure of it.The neighborhood was about as well as you'd expect a known dealer to live in. The scum of Gotham, collected and gathered in one place, left to rot like a carcass on the side of the road. And oddly, it smelled wonderful to him! It was as if a great weight was soon to be lifted from him, and he was wearing his Sunday best for the persumed Sabbath as it was. That purple suit neatly done up, with the coat over his form and sporting a rather ridicilous looking brimmed hat to match the ensemble. One of the boys had brought it and laughed it off as a gag, Joker had naturally shot him and taken to wearing it around waiting for a laugh from the rest of them. Not a peep was heard. He shot another guy for no one laughing at *his* joke. As he'd walk up into the awning of the building, he'd randomly allow his finger to weave around to a random number before hitting a buzzer and waiting for the voice. "Hello? Dudley is that you?" A look of amusement to Harley behind him, before his face with ease into a look of sly contempt, the lie smith working his art. "Yep." His voice flat and direct, he'd hear the buzzing of the unlock before grasping the door and pulling it open. As much as he expected from the building, lights faulty, a general feeling of disarray lambasted along the peeled walls and collected smathering of trash. Of course they needed to go to the fifth floor, hiking his way up it and passing a man whom was at his door. No doubt the person who had foolishly let them in. He was awarded a smile and a single fingertip to Joker's lips as a gesture of silencing, while daring to open his jacket and reveal a collection of knives that'd put a top chef to shame. Marching up the stairs with a giddiness reserved for Christmas, or The Batman, or Christmas with The Batman, Joker was giving a haunting whistle as his leathered hands slid along the rails of the shuddy and worn down wood. "Keep up Harley, feel the burn."

She made no real judgements when it came to the neighborhood the pair happened to find themselves in, it was stereotypical in someways. And like always she was there to follow behind her husband, loyal and obedient, she was such a good wife. Even if she still dressed like a whore. "You feel the burn when ya wearing six inch heels..." She'd keep insult she hurled his way quiet, mostly calling him Chuckles or Bozo when he wasn't listening to her. She too in her Sunday best, a light almost see through material clung to her legs in alternating black and red, and a corset keeping her belted and buckled in the right places. She of course, just like Joker was armed to the teeth. Her guns teethered to either side of her legs, and one tucked into the waist in of low rising pants, a large studded belt helped hide the weapon but at the same time, it offered almost no coverage, considering how low her pants where. Of course by her side, was snickering teenage hynea who over her hip now. Chain link leash was grasped in her own leather clad hand. "Puddin, my pants are falling down!" She whined, making excuses as to why she couldn't keep up with him.

The complaints were lost to him, too engaged in his own morbid thoughts to really put everything in working order. He had his motley circus of misfits in tow with him, though he had insisted that Humpty and Rookface or whatever the Harley-Wannabe was calling herself, waiting outside with the car. He could have had the number to that apartment tattooed onto his eyelids at this point, so clear was the image in his head of what their destination was. Passing door after door, he'd reach E 4, while giving a look to E13 and E15 boxing in the one they wanted. Adjusting himself like he was about to knock on the door of the date, before swinging his jacket open and drawing out a sawed off shotgun, and that barrel had been disgustingly shaved off to the point of being hazardous to himself even. A single sharp knock, tapping a rhythm to some obscure song, before his palm plastered over the peep hole to prevent any spying on who his surprise company was. Waggling the dangerous firearm at his waist, he'd whisper almost to himself in that angry voice. "Knock knock.. noooo peekie weeking."

Taking a movement as Joker stopped moving, she'd readjust herself --- her hand gripping Lou's leash tighter and telling him to be quit, by bring a painted finger to her ebon lips and whispering to him very quietly. "You be a good boy, you need to quiet well Daddy is working." She said with a smile, the hynea an obvious nod to Harley's need to love something and mother it. She'd stand with her back to the wall, so she was almost standing next to the door but out of line of sight. She had known how important all of this was to him, he seemed to show her that on the stairs of their hideout, and of course that was all it took to get his daffy dame to follow right long with no real complains from her. She like Lou would remain quiet, as her met Joker's, and she smirked at him. That lustfully minxie smile, and when she realized that the man in the apartment was not answering, she'd let out a small plead to the man in the apartment, "Oh please, can you help me, I've seem to lost my little dog, if you help me find him. I'll take it worth it ta ya..." she said in that voice the seemed to drip ditzy little fuck toy.

He listened as Harley played the part of a pseudo bait. He'd listen, not hearing much of anything happening in there. And then the sound of a bolt sliding, and the door would open up enough to allow Joker to slid the barrel of the gun into the slot and feel the freeze of the man behind the door in the blind spot. "I've given you the common courtesy of not blowing your door off it's hinge. You scratch my back.. or I'll scratch yours with buckshot." The chain would slip off, and Joker's hand on the door was pushed open with a show of force, sending the man back tracking with his hands up. Door knob clapping into the brass of it's wall protector, and in strode the man with a sense of pride in his actions. Snarled bone white on his face, he'd keep his menace on as he took in Shane and the passage of time. The man looked unkept for the most part, wild hair and five o clock shadow, wearing a unclean wife-beater and ugly boxers. His enviroment suited his method, the house having a pungent smell of something left to rot. His voice sharply trying to reason as he spoke up. "Hey man-- relax. If you want my stash you can have it, you gotta know though you're messing with my bosses and they won't be none too pleased when th- wait you're the Joker." As though to pronounce it more, he stepped into the light that illuminated his features more. Failing sunlight dripping into sunset peeking through pulled up shades, the man would give a sardonic grin and ask with the gusto of a man whom knew the other's head was on the chopping block. "Am I?"

She smiled up at Joker, as the sound of the bolt sliding to the side was because of her little ditz act, or at least she'd like to think that was the case. As Joker moved to advance, she'd allow Lou a bit more slack to let him, do his thing, and offer back up to Joker if need be, of course Joker rarely needed it, Harley followed in after Joker made his first steps into the apartment, her blonde hair framing her face as it was split into pigtails, that cascaded down in barrel curls. She giggled as he warned the group about his bosses, sweet and light but obviously at the same time it was dark and menacing. "Right-o", Harley praised the man for guessing right, she stood there now rocking on her heels, a cackling Hynea taking in the surrondings as well, it was almost comical to watch how similar Lou and Joker where when it came to new places. "Puddin', is this the guy?" She asked walking closer to the clown clad in purple, again taking his side through all of this.

Shane moved like a man who wasn't completely afraid, and that was probably because he didn't believe he was in danger. A small time drug peddler didn't need to fear from one of the major crime boss / life ruiners who ran the city he assumed. How wrong he was. Wanting to get some fear out of him, Joker opted to instantly inform him of his fate with the tact of a man whom was hoping for a major break down. "Shane, I'm here for a very important reason. You see, I was glossing over life and the small bits of fragmentive memory I had, and I said to myself.. which one of them should I save for last? And you know what, you're name just kept.. flying to the top of the list. So.. I made sure to bide my time.. because what I got planned for you is--- reeeal special." He'd move to jab the barrel of the gun into his chest, and shoved him into the broken down couch when he'd try to walk away, a wiley look creeping on his face as he spoke. "I just don't know how exactly.. I want to proceed. It's kind of like sex.. you plan so much for the first time.. but when you're there you only want to make sure you don't.. fumble the whole thing." "Look I don't know what your problem is.. I didn't do nothing to no one. What's your deal.. I ain't no Batman." He'd seem to flare up again, and moved to place the pseudo-cannon into his forehead as he'd half shriek, his voice raising. "You're Batman!?"

She was content to look at the man's operation, a small time drug maker, selling his shit to rich white kids, trust fund babies. Lou following behind her smelling whatever smells he could smell as well, but she kept an ear open, listening to what the two men where saying. Mumbling to herself, as she stared at the small lights above the budding pot leafs, she half way thought about taking it after Shane was dead and thinking of a way to send it to Pammy. She'd know what to do it, the other part of her thought to keep it for herself, or just burn it right there. "God knows I hate a virgin.", she mumbled herself, as she shoved off the baggies, and grams of cocaine from the table to the floor. Turning on her heels, she'd rush to Joker when she heard him shriek and hear Shane state that he was Batman, "Nah he's not, he aint got the build, Batsy is taller then ya, and he's just a fat little shrimp compared to you Joker." Her hand moving over the violet jacket to calm the clown down.

He had his gaze settled hard on the man as his lovely assistant came to coax him, calming him down and allowing him to sedate himself. Keeping the man pressured in his seated position, Joker would find his brows knitting and a rough red lip being chewed on in thought. Gun lowered down to his side, he'd speak up in a tone that seemed almost half annoyed. "And at the same time.. nothing is more disappointing than being disappointed. I was expecting more from you.. I was expecting guns.. or some reason for you to keep living. Instead you're just some.. burn out. It's all so.. typical." The form of someone came down the hall with attract attention, though he didn't immediatly wheel his gun on him. Dishwater blonde hair, a petite thing with her hair wild and askew. Clothing a mix of both tightly built and baggy at the same time on the somewhat plumping form of a woman in her dwindling twilight of beauty. She look confused and disoriented, either from the ruckus awakening her, or being Shane's best client. He went from a look of anger, to a look of confusion suddenly. Eyes locking on the woman with fleeting traces of familiarity and back to the drug dealer, with his gun suddenly shaking before his grip tightened. That trigger finger became itchy, and Joker's mood drained from that melancholy to a icy pitch. Words hissed out, and he found himself speaking in a tone that was foreshadowing a sudden massacre. "You didn't tell me you had company." "Go back to the bedroo-" "What the fuck are these people doing in our apartme-" The new entrant was silenced with a sharp look from the mad clown before Joker suddenly turned his now deadly serious intention upon Shane, he spoke again in that deadly rasp of a voice.
"Make-her-go-back-to-the-bedroom." He now seemed a man whom had lost his way, as though for a brief flash the makeup had drained from his face and the confidences of a mastermind had fled him like so many grains draining to thebottom of a hour glass. Everything was backwards, they weren't in the house of some last random monster whom had purposely botched a job and left him holding the broken pieces. It had become real, more real than the man whom played in insanity would ever want to admit. He snapped, his voice growling like that of a boogeyman. "GETHEROUTNOW."

She was content to linger against Joker for bit longer then she needed too, the hand clad with red leather, black finger nail polish and diamonds remained on his chest. Her cheek pushed up against the breast of his suit, thankfully she'd had perfected her make up that it didn't smear onto him, when she touched the violet material. Lou heard the form stir first, and he let out a small warning bark/chirp that had drawn the Harlequin's attention before anyone elses, and she saw it. But she brushed it off at first, a woman, and unless it was Red or Kitty, then there was no need to worry. Lou stared at the woman and then back to Harley waiting for some kind of order. She hushed him, she was forced to look at this woman a little closer now. She was small just like Harley was, Harley might have been a bit smaller, Harley felt her chest tighten when she saw the woman. Her hand would tighten as she clung onto Joker, almost to keep him locked onto either herself or Shane. The little red and black sprite would start to tremble when Joker went to that darker place that made his voice sound almost demonic. And now Harley was left to study all of this, keeping her own emotions out of it, she was almost shocked when Joker ordered the woman back to the bed room. And with Shane sitting on his ass, it was Harley who moved, moved from Joker, having acted like an anchor of sorts, she left Joker to float, and walked towards the woman. The gentle heart of Harley showing itself as she put her hands on the woman's shoulders, "If ya know what's good for ya, you'll go back to the bedroom." she said even going to force the woman, just trying to get her to move.

The man kept his attention on Shane, the distraction pushed away, left to be forgotten back to the recess of the mind. Dark streaks around the eye kept his vision obscured as he'd sneak one last look to the woman, whom shared the moment of confusion trying to address Harley. "What's going on-- who are you people!?" And as she was pushed out of the thresh hold, into the hallway, Joker would move down into Shane's face with that gun keeping it's point. His glower, a look of intense hate fixing on his face, he would simply snarl to him as a flare of ultra violence overtook him. "Choke on it." The only way to explain the proper affect was to imagine a detonation, the course sound of a watermelon popping, as he executed him swiftly. There was no long and intricate speech, no drawn out reasoning for why this had to happen, he didn't even care that the man didn't know whom his executioner was. Just a flayed and indented mess of blood that coated the man, leaving a splash of wild red design over his bone white face. The rush of the murder subdied, and allowed him to realize the alarming pain in his hand from holding that modifed weapon and the throbbing. Throwing it down, he'd turn and growl. Of course, someone couldn't stay in the room after hearing that, a blood curdling scream and a rush into the room to find the mess that was made. The woman torn from the grisly scene, the man now clenching and unclenching his hand, and the overwhelming emotion that ripped at her, fell into a heap against the arm of the couch wailing. Still tending to his hand, he was now trying to block out the desperate cry to Shane, as if she mourned hard and fast enough, his head would piece itself back together. Shooting a angry look back, he'd snarl and seek the urge to lash out at her now, shoving her head weakly with his good hand and yelling. "Shut UP. SHUT UP." He wanted to leave now, a wild look to Harley and then to the door before casing over the room once over. The last bounty was suddenly not as fufilling as he had imagined it, as he'd move through the small living room towards were the entrances had been, talking to his wife. "We're finished. Get the mutt. Let's go." And then he hesitated.

"It's the circus hunny --- we're clowns." She lied to the woman, or at least in Harley's mind it was a sweet little lie, she didn't want to flat out say, that's the Joker, and he's kind of pissed off at your boyfriend, and you need to go into the other room because he's shown you mercy, which of course made Harley wonder. How much of the original and second story was swapped out. But she stopped, pushing the woman into the bedroom the best she could and then she heard it. She heard the violence, in the other room. Harley was every so slightly worried about all of that, and that's when she began to panic as well. And in that panic, the other woman got the better of her, the other woman was bigger and Harls was off guard, she was shouldered into the wall, and she let out a painful little oomph noise to her, before running behind the other woman. "No, no, no come back!" but it was too late, and she could not stop her from seeing the carnage. Even Harley who had seen it so many times seemed a little taken back. Harley needed to look over the room, she saw the typical things, she saw the man lying there dead, the woman mourning, Lou laughing in a nervous manner, and Joker clenching and unclenching his hand. She'd make a movement to go look at it, that was until he clenched at the woman who was crying for Shane. She make a small squeak as the other woman struggled. She felt like she was holding her breath, the smell of the death overpowering, following whatever order was given to her, she moved to grab Lou by his collar and began to pull at him. At Joker's side, she looked at him, wondering what caused him to stop.

The image on the wall, in passing. A picture frame, simple as it was, and looking so out of place in this den of filth. Small colorful lettering hugged the outline of it, a mash of building blocks that molded together to read the words BABY GIRL, and inside of it was a small child laying amongst soft blankets with a big happy smile on it's face. Joker was staring at the picture, or atleast it seemed to indicate he was. Molded and dark black eyes had focused on the fat cheeks and dark eyes, bald head that seemed so pettable. Hand would move up, to unhook that small picture from it's wall, and take a moment to study it. Seeming lost for a time in the cutesy photography, he'd weigh something emotionally inside him before placing it back upon it's peg with a light tap against the wall. With a returning glance back towards Harley and the dog, he'd move out into the open space of the hallway. He hadn't noticed that she had taken to ransacking the place now, hand moving up to slowly brush away some of that crimson blood that dared to mesh with his wild face paint. Joker's attention had shifted onto her now, seeming to be searching for something to say about what happened in there, but it was apparent he was rather mixed up in the whole ordeal. Lips would part, dried red smile holding open for a second, before he'd close his mouth again and simply stare at her with a unsettling in his gullet. Searching for exactly what he wanted to put out there, he'd find his hand going into his jacket and drawing out one of his short and steel kissed knives, serrated edging making it prime for cutting bone. He would wobble the handle at her before turning it over and keeping the handle exposed to Harley. "....Go do it."

She needed to get Lou out of there before bloodlust consumed him and she could no longer control him, she was pulling at him, and dragging him to door way, handing off to one of the men that had followed them up into the apartment but did not enter. She warned him to take him back down, and give to HD, since he was the only one strong enough to control her living and breathing hellhound. She had returned to the apartment, when she realized Joker wasn't behind her, and that's when she saw him staring at picture of a baby. It made her blood run cold when she saw him staring into it. She had assumed that the woman was pregnant and not that she had just given birth, and in that moment Harley felt like she was going to vomit. Once again not breathing, she felt a little bit more at ease when Joker moved out into the hall. She was shaking when the knife was handed to her, she stared at the man. At her husband, confusion showed all over that beautiful, and now ghost like face of hers. Her hand would rest on the handle but she was not ready to take the blade from him completely, not yet. She couldn't find her voice, she stared at him with the most pathetic look on her face, finally she found her voice, "Do what?" she said, almost fearing his answer.

He didn't flinch when she seemed to feign ignorance of his demand. That wild hair, that tongue daring to snake it's way across his teeth and attempt to cleanse a vile taste in his mouth. Sinister was his demand, but even now he knew what he thought had to be done. The Joker was picking his words carefully, so as not to seem as if he was manipulating her into something. "Kill her. For me." That man maintained his composure now, keeping his hold on the knife while looking down at the smaller clown and partner in crime. A tense silences overtook them now, as if he was expecting her to merrily skip off and slash and dash that woman without a showing of remorse. When she didn't immediatly go, urge her again in that uncomfortably cold voice. "What are you waiting for? Kill her." There wasn't a testing notion in his voice, he was simply phrasing it in the same manner one would ask her to cut him a slice of pie, or if he had gotten any mail today. That inhuman request persisting as he give the smallest hint of an unsavory smile to top it off.

She stared at the knife, taking it, and then at him, she had never killed with a knife before --- "With a knife, can't I just shoot her?" she did not want to even kill the woman to begin with, she wanted to let her live, but if she needed to do it, she'd prefer the gun. Her aim was damn near perfect, but she'd never handled a knife, it felt akward in her hands. And then there was this little bit of something, she could not kill this woman, she had done nothing wrong, she was a victim of circumstance, and "they have a little baby, I...I can't...", she whispered to him, and that was the truth she could not, she knew she was walking an extremely fine line with Joker. She'd seen him fly off the handle. Hearing the coldness in his voice, she started to back up to the door, like she would go, she would kill the woman for him. She was slow in her movements though, those pretty blue eyes of hers once again showed fear, she was scared of Joker and what he could do it her if she did not follow his every whim.

He'd allow her to back up slowly from him, listening to her protests with the same manner of doubt that he was feeling briefly flash in his mind. That hateful clown kept his composure as he'd watch her with a soft cant of his head, a curious fashion as if he was musing something now. Seeing Harley's unwilling movement, he would seem to give into the whims of her desire and put a hand up to gently clasp the wrist of hers with that weapon. Pausing her in that slow dwindling step backwards, he'd use his still tender hand to draw the knife from her and almost timidly slip it back into the little hand made sheaths he had littering his attire. The Joker would dare to plant a gory kiss into her hair as he'd guide her past and speak in a ill worded by noble gesture of peace. "Fine-- fine Harley. You can have it your way. No killing. Go check on the others.." And then he made it clear with the urging nudge towards the stairs he wanted her to go alone, and that he'd catch up. As he'd view her descending down the stairs, that mad capped clown drew dagger vision back towards the door, the last sight Harley saw of him in that complex was a steady and wolf like prowl in returning measure to where his victims had been left to their misery. The heavy foot steps of a man whom was for all extensive purposes had one last thing to take care of.