[thread; complete] From Jack to Joker.
Who: Jack/Joker (letsputasmileon) ; Harleen Quinzel (heypuddin)
Where: Terra // Asylum & possibly outward.
When: July 31 XXXX - 7:13AM and onward.
Summary: Liberation, tranformation, mayhem, and dress up.
Rating: PG 13 to be safe.
Other: tl;dr
( Now I'm always smiling. )
Where: Terra // Asylum & possibly outward.
When: July 31 XXXX - 7:13AM and onward.
Summary: Liberation, tranformation, mayhem, and dress up.
Rating: PG 13 to be safe.
Other: tl;dr
( Now I'm always smiling. )
Leaning back in her swivel chair, she hid a yawn haphazardly behind the palm of her hand, fingers feeling across the front of her desk for her coffee mug. Functioning on little sleep was bad enough, but mindless paperwork was just...
The sound of something popping in the distant caught her attention. Her head shifted lazily towards the door, glazed glass offering no insight to the happenings behind it as another pop resonated, slightly closer. And then another. And another. Harleen sat up in her chair, coffee mug forgotten as another explosion rocked closer-by. The sounds of screams in the hallway, orderlies dropping papers and patients raging behind lock and key drowning out everything else. Harleen was on her feet, fingers lingering ever-so-slightly on the arm of her chair as she watched the cloudy substance slowly drift under her office door.
...Smoke?
A chemical explosion in the lab? No, there had been multiple blasts. She hurriedly grabbed her purse, hastily throwing it over her shoulder as she started for the door. An attack? But the explosions sounded like they'd come from inside. How had someone managed to get past security with explosives capable of--
The door was pulled ajar; Dr. Quinzel waved a hand in front of her face at the wash of smoke and gas that abruptly rushed to meet her. A mistake; she couldn't see anything in front of her face, nevermind where she was going. Someone was running screaming down the hallway; a broad-shouldered orderly slammed into her, pushing her aside and into the doorframe before barreling down the hallway.
He was... laughing? Laugh, maniacally. Running for dear life and laughing his head off as he did it.
She clasped a hand over her mouth and nose, but it was too late. She knew she'd already inhaled a good deal of whatever this was. It wasn't normal smoke... No. No, it wasn't. She was already beginning to feel sick. She felt along the wall, walking in the direction that would take her towards the exit, her mind racing. What was going on? Who was capable of doing something of this degree? How had they-
She doubled over, stomach acid high in her throat. Can't lose it. No time. Need to get out of here before I breathe any more of this. One foot in front of the other. Moving; she had to move. Had to move forward.
The alarms were blaring and the lights flashing the emergency signals, only adding to the sensory overload. She wanted to shut everything up, just shut up that annoying siren and shoot out every single bulb that dared to blink in such an obtrusive manner. She was trying to concentrate. Couldn't a girl get a second to collect her thoughts in dire straights?!
She fumbled for her security card at the door, failing to realize that the security mechanisms had already all been electronically unlocked. The laminated plastic fell from between her fingers; she cursed under her breath, bending down to retrieve it. Something wet and sticky was lining the floor; she waved her hand in an attempt to dismiss the smoke - blood. It was blood. Lips slightly parted to let a ragged exhale through. A smear of crimson marred the wall where one of the staff's heads had been thrust against it, and there he lie, perfectly still and open eyes vacant, unseeing. His face was splattered with droplets and lines of red. Harleen stared for several long moments as if fascinated before someone's hands on her left arm hauling her to her feet jarred her attention.
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She stared after where he stood, her heart hammering in her chest. She had to get out of here. She knew she should. She knew she had to.
Yet her feet were slowly taking her down the hallway in no real rush to go anywhere. The smoke was beginning to clear, if only slightly; she no longer had to feel along the wall to guide her way. She could see the floor, the cluttered mess of patient charts and medical histories and clipboards, syringes and broken vials, pills strewn over the tile and carts overturned. Messy, messy. Messy.
Why was it so funny? She snorted as if compelled to do so, as if someone had whispered a joke in her ear about how hilarious this all was. The Mad House gone awry. Patients and orderlies scurrying together, concealed by the fog, tearing at each other's throats. How many of them had thought to go straight for the medication? With security down, everything was so easily accessible.
Harleen stood in the doorway to the nurse's office. She needed to wash the blood from her hands. She didn't want to take the credit for someone else's good deed - why she even thought of finding one of the Asylum's own staffers dead upon the floor in such a manner, she didn't know, and apparently didn't care. There was no need to think about it. It simply was. And it was hilarious.
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Fingers curled around the the door that was open a crack. The very second he began pulling it back to step inside a high-pitched scream of the female persuasion was issued along with the sound of a body knocking over tables and equipment in their scramble. His head peeked through the door to see a nurse tucked into the back corner of the room. Blood streaked the floors and the door along with various instruments scattered about; pills; glass.
"Well hello there," Jack crooned as he slowly stepped inside. Her breathing was heavy and panicked and she tried to tuck herself further into the corner screaming and crying out, 'get away from me!!' But he kept stepping forward only stopping to pick up a trocar from the ground and weave it through his fingers laughing under his breath at her screaming fit - throwing whatever she could get her hands on his way. He stopped halfway, a box of tissues hitting his shoulder.
"There's some bite in you," he commented shaking the hand which held the surgical blade, "I like that."
He skipped toward her humming as he did and straddled her lap giving her little time to fight. A hand came tight against her jaw as he hushed her with shushing noises. "I wanna play a game," He spoke, hushing her again as she choked out a cry and tried to move her head away from him. "Let play," the blade rose, "dress up."
Choking screams could be heard out into the hall as he stripped her of her outfit first, tossing it up to a patient bed that was less of blood than the rest of their surroundings. He smiled at her, as much as he could with his face as it currently was, and plunged the knife into her abdomen carving a smiley face deeply across her skin cackling as he did it. When finished, he slicked the blade over her lips removing some excess blood and painting a long smile. She was still alive, but her heart would fade soon enough and she was such a good sport about the entire fiasco that he felt he'd be a little generous.
He rolled to his feet taking a moment to admire his work before walking over to the sink beside the bed cleaning the blood from his skin and getting undressed. Jack tossed aside the bloody clothing, finished half-assedly washing off, and tossed on the scrub dress. He pulled on a pair of gloves and wondered to the counter picking out some peroxides and cleaning products to treat the wounds on his face before he'd stitch it up with wire.
He was half stitching up one side of his face when he heard footsteps stumble and stop and the giggling of yet another female worker. Worker he assumed because if he knew the inmates as well as he thought he did, they were all dead, in the streets, or hiding in a corner by now. He continued his work as she stumbled in to the room.
His head tipped to the side as he saw the figure that entered the room in her fit of giggles. Jack rose the appropriate scissors to cut the wire once he was finished that side and padded the other side with cleansing agents.
Harleen Quinzel.
Well well. Wasn't that a name.
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The nurse's office hadn't been spared from the chaos, it seemed, as she'd guessed; it was painted a grotesque red and blood was splattered nearly everywhere. In the midsts of it all stood an unexpected sight - a man, his face a dripping crimson smile, half-stitched and looking absolutely out of place dressed in the nurse's scrubs. Which, oddly enough, she was thankful for; she immediately recognized that this was no member of the staff, no wayward orderly, no displaced doctor or nurse. This was one of the patients recently liberated from his room.
She couldn't help but notice that he looked ridiculous standing there, legs unshaven, stitching his face oh-so-casually amongst the chaos. He hadn't thought to run out like the rest? Wasn't his newfound freedom something he'd want to explore? Instead, he seemingly rather don a dress and fix himself up. Well, she could appreciate that - wasn't it her who always swore to look her best?
A chortle escaped her at the thought, which quickly erupted into giggling, and then flat out laughter. In no time at all, she was reduced to her knees, wiping at the corners of her eyes with the palms of her hands. Hilarious. It was all so fucking funny. She'd never laughed so hard in her life. Her middle ached, muscles taut and trembling. When she finally regained some semblance of composure, she lifted herself up using the door for help, before exhaling an almost... contented sigh.
"Ahh, hum, um... Mind if I, haha, use the sink?"
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His head slowly turned over a shoulder as he heard the laughing from the woman. A grin curled up and tugged at the freshly placed stitches and tape. He turned slowly, upper body tilting over to one side watching her performance so to speak. Interesting. The man laughed as well, but not nearly to the level of hysterics she broke down in, and stepped to the side away from the sink as she asked.
"Miss Harleen Quinzel," an arm rose and hand made an open gesture, "be my guest."
His jaw clicked at the end of the last word spoken and body straitened to move over to the other counter. Jack pulled open various drawers and cupboards in search for something that could be used as a foundation. During which he also shoved a few other things into his pockets. The man found something workable not long after, some form of cream and powder would work. Carelessly he brushed off the clutter on the counter with an arm and slammed down the powder. There was a pause between that and over the running water you could hear him lightly humming. Jack propped open the container and poured out a fair amount. He mixed it with the cream and sloppily began to apply it. By no measure was it even nor well applied.
He turned a circle once finished and moved forward toward the woman by the sink. "You know," his shoulders twitched as he spoke, "your name reminds me of something."
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He was looking for something. He was rummaging through the cabinets and drawers with a purpose, she decided; turning the tap water on, she kept peering at him side-long, not truly wanting to glance full on but interested enough that she couldn't keep her attention on the water running over her hands. Crimson swirled down the drain, blood washing away; she didn't even notice. Was he... humming?
Mixing something, looking oh-so-interesting in his nurse's attire with his cheeks slashed as they were. How he had managed to get such impressive wounds was quite the question - another patient, loosed in this chaos? Perhaps. She was all the more perplexed, her fingers halting completely in their ministrations, as he began smearing the white substance on his face. What... the hell was he...
The sound of his voice jarred her from her thoughts, and she almost jumped. She quickly turned the water off, shaking her hands and hastily wiping them on the front of her lab coat before facing him, taking a small step backwards at his unexpected approach.
You know, your name reminds me of something.
This wasn't the first time she'd heard those same words from the lips of others, but this was decidedly different. She tilted her head slightly, looking at him, eyes unable to help but scan the gruesome wounds decorating each side of his mouth. She had no idea who he was, what his prognosis was, what his potential triggers of psychosis were or what could launch him into a psychotic fit. She was walking a wire; humoring him could be just as deadly as ignoring the question.
She hesitated only a minute before asking, almost breathlessly, "What's that?"
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"Harlequin," he mused aloud in a cheerful manner with an ever so cheerful look over his patched up and messy white face. Jack tipped his head watchful of her expression and movements.
"You look a little nervous," Jack commented as he slowed down his steps forward. One step, two step, three step, four, until his body was well in arms reach. Those dark brown eyes looked hawkish and predatory in their study of the figure he began to circle. He looked her up and down before stopping behind her and leaning in with his chin a hair away from the top of her shoulder. "Can't say I blame you, it's a riot out there," Jack laughed, but quickly turned the topic.
"You have any red lipstick? I need something red," he asked with a slow smack of his lips.
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Harlequin.
Of course. She'd been teased many times in the past; it was nothing new. But the way he said it, so chipper and friendly, made a shiver run down her spine. She didn't like it. It was almost like some joke she didn't quite get. But she almost laughed anyway.
Her body tensed as he drew closer, all but invading her personal space, walking around her like a lion circling it's prey. She was a slab of meat, a piece of eye candy slowly being unwrapped. Goosebumps rose to her skin. She knew she should be afraid - and she was. Everything about this man - the way he walked, the way he spoke, the manner in which he took her apart with his eyes... they all were like the sirens blaring their warning in her ears.
But she was also exhilarated.
And it was very hard to take a man seriously who was dressed in women's clothing as unconvincingly as he.
It was almost anti-climactic when he asked for her lipstick; the hair stood on end at the nape of her neck, skin shivering with the phantom touch of his face hovering so close to hers. He smelled like blood, dust, and cleaning agents. She slowly removed her purse from her shoulder, rummaging through to her make-up bag, and pulling out her lipstick - hot tamale, it read. She dared angle her face ever-so-slightly towards him, trying to keep him within range of her eyesight. "What, blood isn't... red enough for you?"
She immediately regretted saying such a thing - but she was quickly realizing she was in no means in possession of her normal wit; it was as if someone had tossed her head apart and hastily put it back together again, leaving out some crucial bits. She was provoking a lunatic. This was sure to end well.
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She was frightened, but not resentful to that fear. She seemed attracted to it. There was something almost respectable on some level in that; or useful.
He emitted a small hoot of laughter. "I like your thinking, Doctor," Jack nodded with a lick of his lips, his body shifting weight from side to side. The man continued in a harsh whisper as the blade pressed into her skin, but had yet to break it, "I think we could make good friends." There was something dangerously lustful in his tone.
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He was smearing the lipstick haphazardly across his face, his mouth; she knew it should occur to her as odd, but really, at the moment, it seemed almost fitting. After all, he was wearing that nurse's dress. Hot tamale, indeed. A chortle of laughter caught in her throat, but sounded deceptively like a choked cry as he slid the black tube into her pocket, the cool press of steel against her cheek, her jawline. He was moving her, changing the angle of her head so that her eyes caught the corner--
And there was the half-naked nurse, sprawled lifelessly like some rag doll forgotten by it's owner. Her heart skipped a beat. You're a moron. You're going to die like this all just because you couldn't keep your mouth shut! She should be panicking. She should be breathless and lightheaded, pleading for her life; these are normal responses to a situation of this calibur. But she wasn't. She was... smiling?
Exhilarated. Excited. Perhaps in more ways than one. She knew that he had the strength in those arms of his, in those fingers holding her back and pressing her against him, that he could kill her and without remorse. He'd not so much as think twice. She was afraid... but of what? Of dying? Of him? Of her last moments in this world consisting of providing lipstick to a lunatic in a dress painting his face with her make-up?
I like your thinking, Doctor. He was figeting, edgy. Not nervous, just edgy, edgy edgy edgy, like a string pulled taut and ready to snap at any moment. I think we could make good friends.
"We can't be friends if you kill me," she reasoned, her knees beginning to feel like jelly. Was she shaking? Was he shaking? She didn't dare try to move, but she wanted to see his face. Not knowing what he was doing, not being able to see him, was making things worse than they already were. "But I'm... sure you already knew that. Right, ah... I don't think I got your name."
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The hand tightly grasping her hair released with a jerk, but he didn't give her much time to scatter away if she would have wanted to try - he didn't think she did. That made him smile just a touch. He pushed her around to face him. The web of his his gloved hand splattered with white cream and powder pressed against her esophagus holding her still and upward. Not enough to have her on her toes, but enough to make her feel like she should be.
His head tipped making the gesture one would make as if they couldn't or didn't quite comprehend or hear what the other did. Of course this wasn't truly the case. "You're talking logic to a loony Miss Quinzel," he laughed almost heartedly tightening the grip up around her neck.
His head than rolled to the side slowly. Dark hues settled upon her blues as he spoke in a lower tone, "do you fear for the end, Doctor?," he spoke with a soft lull of his head. His hand tipped her head back a touch; enough that she wouldn't be able to see anything beyond a few inched below his shoulders. His other arm moved to a lower pocket.
He lifted his chin to match as he spoke again, taunting. "does the idea of you dying here, right now, in a hospital gone rampant fill you with dread?"
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Do you fear for the end, Doctor? Does the idea of you dying here, right now, in a hospital gone rampant fill you with dread?
What a question. What a question indeed. "I-I... don't want to die, if th-that's-" hard to talk, hard to breathe, with him gripping at her throat as he was. "-that's what you're asking." Was she afraid? She was, in a way - she didn't want to die, certainly not by being stabbed to death or by having his blade cut her into pieces where she stood. Was she afraid that he could - no, would? Yes. Her heart was racing in her chest. She knew she could die at any moment.
Her fingers moved slowly but with purpose towards his face, smearing an uneven spot of creamy white on his forehead. "M-missed a spot," she noted with a half-smile, and gave a breathless, silent laugh.
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He released her and watched her crumble to the ground. Slowly, Jack crouched down picking up her one wrist to check the time. 8:45AM. He made an unimpressed noise with his tongue and facial expression to go with it as he rolled back up again. Fingers picked up her bag and brought it to the counter to rummage through the contents. A large amount of make-up lead to a convenient find of black cream eyeshadow. Jack finished his work by rubbing it carelessly around his eyes.
He took a few things once he was finished. Terra ID card being the first. Hospital ID - he held it up and flipped it between finger and thumb before wiping off the blood that smeared it. Credit card, bank card - and of course, the black make-up. He placed them in a pocked and looked over his shoulder at the figure laying lifelessly on the ground before pivoting toward her again.
"Pardon me," Jack whispered, bending down to pick out the tube of lipstick and place it in his own pocket before tapping her cheek twice, "need this."
He moved away after kicking her body onto its stomach. Feet carried him forward toward the nurse. He paused for a moment, his body tilting to the side. Jack than grabbed an ankle and pulled her out of the nurses room moving down the hall toward Mikami's office once again. He only stopped for the scattered security guards to remove their weapons. And take someone's shoes as well.
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"'s not funny," a slurred nothing slipped through her lips - swollen and heavy, or so they felt, before there was nothing.
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The man brought it over to the desk and pulled open a drawer where the nicely lined markers and pens resided. He drew a smile in red and dark circles in black around the eyes before sticking it to her face with her own blood and writing scattered 'ha ha ha's over her body. He shuffled over to where he knew Mikami kept a few instruments for psychological tests. Gloved fingers came across the deck of cards and pulled out the joker. He slipped the card just under the top right side of the nurse's bra.
A pause. The deck was tossed back into the drawer and shoved shut. Jack pivoted and moved out of the room making a motion to those still left to follow on their way down the hall to a less heavily manned exit.
9:01 the clock said. 29 Minutes. That gave him time to scavenge useful tools and chemicals. A foot kicked over one dead inmate on their way down the hall as he made directions with his hands for where his men were to go.
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