It didn't take the Joker very long to find the Shooting Gallery. He found a rather large set of booths situated on the western end of the park. The first booth was an archery range. Three bows rested against the edge of the table, with large bullseyes set up several meters away, amidst mountains of hay. Another booth featured a set of small water pistols, meant to knock down a set of sturdy-looking glass milk-bottles. Water pistols? The Joker seethed in disappointment.
The third booth was more focused on Target Practice than anything else. It had an assortment of bullseyes set up a few feet away. On the table lay a small assortment of throwing knives. The clown's eyes lit up like Christmas morning.
"Now we're talkin'."
The Joker shrugged off his tattered trenchcoat, setting it down on a nearby stool. He picked up one of the knives in his right hand, fixing his aim on one of the bullseyes ahead of him. He flexed his arm, preparing to throw...
BZZZZZZZZT. Interference on a nearby loudspeaker forced him to throw before he was prepared, sending the knife careening into one of the milk-bottles. It fell to the ground, shattering loudly. The Joker seethed in frustration. But just as quickly as his anger arrived, it quickly went away. What did he care? It wasn't his park, after all.
"My bad, Bill," muttered the Joker before retrieving another knife from the table.
The crash of glass tipped him off to the general location of where the Joker might be so, wings spreading out again, he shot upwards and glided towards the noise. Even though it was dark, he could tell that mop of green hair any ways, even if it was a little ragged looking then the clean cut Joker he knew of.
And why was he not surprised that the Joker was throwing knives instead of going for the little squirt guns?
Looking now, his opinion didn’t change. Purple suit, white face, green hair. It was the basics of the Joker motif but, it was by far not the same Joker he fought before.
Still, if this was a fake Joker, there was no need for Terry to take him seriously. He didn’t take the original one seriously and ended up beating him because of it. Maybe he could have a little fun messing with this clown. So he glided up overhead to land on the roof of the shooting gallery, almost certain that him just passing over would have cast the bat like shadow.
The third booth was more focused on Target Practice than anything else. It had an assortment of bullseyes set up a few feet away. On the table lay a small assortment of throwing knives. The clown's eyes lit up like Christmas morning.
"Now we're talkin'."
The Joker shrugged off his tattered trenchcoat, setting it down on a nearby stool. He picked up one of the knives in his right hand, fixing his aim on one of the bullseyes ahead of him. He flexed his arm, preparing to throw...
BZZZZZZZZT. Interference on a nearby loudspeaker forced him to throw before he was prepared, sending the knife careening into one of the milk-bottles. It fell to the ground, shattering loudly. The Joker seethed in frustration. But just as quickly as his anger arrived, it quickly went away. What did he care? It wasn't his park, after all.
"My bad, Bill," muttered the Joker before retrieving another knife from the table.
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And why was he not surprised that the Joker was throwing knives instead of going for the little squirt guns?
Looking now, his opinion didn’t change. Purple suit, white face, green hair. It was the basics of the Joker motif but, it was by far not the same Joker he fought before.
Still, if this was a fake Joker, there was no need for Terry to take him seriously. He didn’t take the original one seriously and ended up beating him because of it. Maybe he could have a little fun messing with this clown. So he glided up overhead to land on the roof of the shooting gallery, almost certain that him just passing over would have cast the bat like shadow.
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