A New Variable to The Equation- Part I, Down the Rabbit Hole- Chapter One: Set it Up (II)
Authors: Paigery (obi_luvr ) and Amadeus (regularbean ).
Disclaimer: We own NOTHING.
Bruce was almost too consumed in unadulterated rage to notice those venomous, emerald eyes wander down his figure; somewhere below his fully-stocked utility belt. The Batman strode forward, glass crackling beneath the soles of his boots as he lurched forward, grabbing hold of the madman by the front of his shirt and yanking him forward once more until his face smacked the liquor-stained counter. He then proceeded to lift that viciously-scarred face back up to meet him with a handful of those grungy, green curls. Bruce would openly confess that sometimes the Batman’s methods were unconventional and quite painful. But what did he care now about the limitations of the human body when the sick fuck in front of him was probably enjoying being tossed around like some macabre rag-doll.
“I’m getting sick of your antics, Joker,” Batman seethed, trying to use his frustration as a way to block out the Clown Prince’s sharp words. They were, by far, sharper than any of his little blades. Bruce straightened himself up, eyes following the contours of the Harlequin’s face where the smothering grease paint had been smeared away to reveal lightly tan, human flesh.
“Now, what do you want?! Why’d you escape from Arkham?” He interrogated. It couldn’t be money. There hadn’t been one single bank robbery in three months--impressive. And it couldn’t be another one of his twisted ‘social experiments’ for no hostages had been taken or bombs planted either. So what was it?
Bruce stepped back, his hands dropping to his sides with an invisible weight. Something about the Joker’s logic always seemed to make him stagger backwards or lash out in blind fury. He talked like he knew Bruce Wayne--Batman, better than he knew himself.
~*!*~
“Fuck…” muttered the far-from-innocent prankster as his face was lifted from the counter once more. And yet, still, he was laughing. He hardly made any move to even attempt to stop Batman from expressing his pure loathing. Because he liked it. This didn’t mean, though, that when the chance arrived he wouldn’t hurt the vigilante in some way. He surely didn’t want to kill him (no, because then there would be no point to anything!), but hurting him would be… fun. He could remember sicking those ravenous dogs on the Bat, and nearly beating him with that metal bar…he licked his lips at the thought of it. “Haven’t we been through this before, about not hitting people in the head because it makes them all fuzzy?” he asked, an air of rebellious challenge in his eyes as he gestured fluently with his hands.
“But that’s funny, Batman, because I’m not sick of you at all!” he insisted openly, chuckling madly afterwards, straining only somewhat against that sturdy hand that had such a good grip in his hair.
“Who /wouldn’t/ want to escape from Arkham? Of course I got out of there, simply because the place is boring! Not to mention the food is terrible. I think you would like the guards there. You like throwing people around, and kicking and punching at them….so you and the staff there would get along quite well, you both have similar hobbies,” he informed Batman quickly, wiping at his mouth for a moment, still laughing as if it were funny.
When Batman released his hold on him the Joker stood up, a certain look lingering behind his eyes as he stood there. He was probably debating whether or not to make Batman a human-dartboard for target-practice with his knives.
"Now, if you'd be mature, we could simply....talk. Like people. Ever heard of people before, Batman?" he jibed.
~*!*~
Batman shifted uncomfortably amongst the scattered debris; his long, billowing cloak moving almost as erratically as his thoughts. He still wanted to pound the maniacal clown’s face into the floor until it was nothing more than a bloody pulp--anything to destroy that jagged, scarlet grin.
“You’re going to be feeling a little more than fuzzy when I’m through with you,” he growled out, turning sharply on his heels and presenting his back to the psychotic jester. A bold move. But, for some reason, he didn’t quite think that the Joker was going to be trying to carve him up like a Christmas ham with a potato peeler tonight. He returned with an abrupt movement and the deft ‘snap’ of his wing-like cape. A rickety chair was slammed down between the two.
“Sit,” Bruce demanded in his best Batman voice. ‘Why am I trying to reason with criminals, now?’ he questioned himself. Tightening his fists once more, the Dark Knight fought to reign control of his fractured reserve. His kohl-lined eyes were blazing with poorly-restrained urges to throttle the clown. He couldn’t even think of why he was so infuriated. Was it because he was tired of playing these sadistic little games with the deranged criminal or was it something more; something more personal?
“You’ve got five minutes.” he declared; figuring that he’d let the Joker yap on about whatever ingenious little idea that’d been toddling around in his head for the last three months and then leave him tied up all nice and neat for Gordon’s unit to come pick up the trash.
~*!*~
The Joker raised his eyebrows, as if surprised by the fact that somebody (even if it were /the/ Batman) was trying to order him around. So, he lifted his foot slightly up off the ground, and bluntly kicked the chair over on it side when ordered to sit down upon it. No, he wasn’t about to attack the Bat…but he wasn’t about to follow the hero’s orders, either.
“Feel more than fuzzy? Ha…I didn’t know any better, Batman, I’d think you were shooting some sexual innuendo in my direction.” Then came that grin again, the one Batman so wanted to claw straight off of the clown’s relentlessly jeering face. The Joker looked to the staunch vigilante’s eyes, noticing and reveling in just how burning with fury they were.
The man took his time to stretch his arms (feeling a little cramped from getting tossed around like that) and then began to swagger over to the opposite end of the bar, moving swiftly, but not hastily at all. When he walked by the imposing figure in black, a smirk spread across his painted features as he made a little giggle, muttering, “If you were any more tense, your jaw would break.”
The Joker's point of destination was surprisingly not any sort of weapon, but rather…a jukebox. One that was a few decades old by the looks of it. “Our game….it’s fun.” He rose his hands up, fingers prickling in the air before setting down to mash some of the buttons together, eventually getting some song to come up. It was a swinging 50’s tune…something most people these days would recognize at all.
“Our game, you see…it’s like a dance. But a dance can only last so long as the song. And Batman…I think we need a new song…maybe one with…less explosions and more…of you.” the Ace of Knaves perked up onto his tip toes for a moment, and then flattened his feet against the ground energetically as he hopped to the middle of the dark room. He raised his arm, holding out his hand as if for the other man to take, the music still tinkling gaily, in the background,
“Wouldn’t it just be rude for you to refuse this offer?” chided the psychopath, waving his hand eagerly for the Batman to come over and take it.
~*!*~
The stoic vigilante observed his adversary’s blatant defiance with a growing scowl--one that possibly rivaled the one carved into his bat-headed mask. Of course the Joker wouldn’t take orders. Not from him, nor anyone else for that matter. He was the epitome of rebellion; an agent of anarchy and a hound of chaos. And he has just kicked that chair over much like an annoyed five year-old. He faintly caught the murderous jester’s comment as he passed by, moving about as a grape-colored blur in his peripheral vision.
‘Feel more than fuzzy? Ha, if I didn’t know any better, Batman, I’d think you were shooting some sexual innuendo in my direction”
The bat-like superhero almost didn’t catch himself from wrinkling his nose up in disgust. What was with this guy?! All of a sudden, the clown mockery had turned into some kind of sensual predator; circling his pray like a starving dog to raw meat. “Must you take everything out of context?” Batman mused to himself.
“You’re wasting your time.” Bruce remarked. It was so unnerving! There he was: a brooding statue clad in black standing in the middle of a partially desolated bar with a lithe madman leaping and bounding around him like some kind of demented cartoon character. It was making his stomach churn and twist into tight little knots. Suddenly an old song began to crackle through the eerie silence--an old little tune that he recalled Alfred listening to on countless occasions while fixing something up in the kitchen. He ventured to pivot on the spot, weary of the painted madman’s intentions.
‘Our game, you see, it’s like a dance. But a dance can only last so long as the song. And Batman, I think we need a new song, maybe one with less explosions and more of…you.’
Bruce nearly choked, sapphire optics widening almost comically. And then that hand was there--waiting oh-so-innocently for him like this truly was just some silly little dance. He glared down at the Joker’s hand; finding it too hard to focus on that ever-smiling face of his. He only then noticed that the other man was without gloves; his lightly tanned skin bared all the way up to his elbows. Something about that made him seem a little more…human?
“Got to hell, Joker,” he deadpanned.
~*!*~
“Aw, is somebody a little nervous? Has somebody got two left feet and is scared of a little dance, hrmm?” the Joker solicited, laughing to himself as he still positioned himself there with his hand outstretched. He watched with a look of interest as the knight’s initially shocked reaction morph into that of an infuriated glower.
“Go to hell? As if nobody has told me that before!” he declared loudly with something of an exasperated laugh, when really he was anything but. “C’mon Batsy,” the man in purple enticed, taking a few smooth strides towards the man whom he was speaking with. He purposely put almost husky emphasis on the ‘Batsy’ part of that sentence just to fray at the hero’s nerves, knowing the other man probably wouldn’t like being referred to in such a cutesy manner. “It can’t…be….that…bad!” he exclaimed hopping up once between each of his words as if he couldn’t contain himself. Which was true, the Joker was hardly known for his self-control at all.
“Is it the song?” the Joker asked, purposely mocking Batman by playing dumb and acting as if he had no clue as to why the crusader would refuse a dance with him, still stepping closer. He wavered for a moment before the symbol of absolute justice, the personification of chaos then snatching the vigilante’s hand tightly in his own and beginning to yank on him to the center of the floor. “Damn, you’re heavy….it must be the suit you’re wearing. Or all that misery. That…” he tilted his head with a twitch, looking for the correct term to describe what he was thinking, “…burden must weigh hard on your shoulders, Atlas. Ha! Or…maybe you should just cut back on the food?” He shot a coy smile back over his shoulder, curled strands of hair swinging with his head’s motions, looking rather proud about his reference to Greek mythology.
Once to the center of the bar, the Joker turned to face his ‘other half’ fully, still grasping at his hands tightly.
“This isn’t a waste of time at all. I find it to be quite the opposite. Maybe you want to leave though, right? Do I make you uncomfortable? Are you still crying over that humping comment? Oh, Batman, Batman, Batman…you shouldn’t let those little, little things get to you! Even though…it kind of was true!” he made a face and continued, “You were definitely ten seconds from attempting to grind me into the counter.”
~*!*~
Bruce fought his body’s impulse to simply roll his eyes at the Joker. He knew the other man was merely playing games with him--dangling his mauled sanity by a thin, plum-colored thread. In his mind, the Batman was absolutely fuming. He watched the murderous Harlequin step closer; giddy with excitement.
“Anything is bad enough if you’re involved.” he muttered, jaw clicking together almost painfully at the end of his words. The Joker took his hand and that rather surprised Bruce. What game was this, now? The Clown Prince was never one for physical manipulation. Or, at least, not as long as he had a drum of gasoline nearby or a blade in hand. He wanted to simply shake the other man off but that would be just as childish as kicking a chair over. And, anyhow, he always seemed to underestimate the maniacal clown’s strength. He let himself be drug over to the center of the room; somehow enjoying the green-haired man’s slight struggle with his sheer bulk. Maybe if the Joker was convinced that this was far too much work for such a small reaction--he would quit.
Not likely.
Batman tried to focus on the music buzzing away in the background from an antique Jukebox and not the painted devil’s jeering voice. He tightened his grip on the Clown’s hand satisfyingly until he could almost feel those little bones grind together. Beneath the black, polished surface of his plated armor--Bruce was debating whether or not to play at the psychopath’s new game. The cops wouldn’t be coming by anytime soon and perhaps, he might just get a better peek at that discombobulated clockwork ticking away inside the criminal mastermind’s skull.
‘You were definitely ten seconds from attempting to grind me into the counter.’
Bruce began to grind his teeth once more; the grip on the Joker’s hand only tightening until his fingers were practically digging into the other’s skin. He yanked the man forward by his hand, closing in on that vermillion grin. Brilliant azure eyes glared back into the poisonous emerald depths of the others; like two pairs of gems settled against black velvet facing one another.
“I don’t know what’s going on in that screwed up head of yours--but you can keep comments like that to yourself.” His voice dropped into a dangerously low baritone while still possessing that same, grating quality that struck fear into most criminals. Why was he stuck on that comment? Why couldn’t the theatrical criminal just drop it?!
~*!*~
At the constricting grip around his hand, the Joker tilted his head like a curious bird, then stealing another glance at what part of the Batman’s face was exposed, trying to seek out some sort of indication there was whatever could be going on inside the Bat’s mind. Well, he did know that on the inside, the Batman’s nerves were probably smoldering and on fire at being prodded and teased so much. But he did wonder what other spare thoughts could be laying around in there.
“But, you see: because you mind so much….that’s why I am going to keep bringing it up over and over again, until it drives you crazy. If you aren’t already. Ahaha!” the Joker shot back in cackling response to the low and threatening growl. He was never going to let that comment go at this point, because the Bat’s reaction to his series of jeers concerning it were most…priceless. He stumbled along with Batman’s harsh tug, going right with it like a leaf in a forceful gust of wind.
“I’m only speaking about what’s true, though….why should I keep my mouth shut about the truth? I should spread the word. If I didn’t tell the truth…now that would be a true…injustice,” he couldn’t help himself but add, making possibly the most fake innocent expression on his face afterwards that he had ever made, shrugging his shoulders as well. ‘But, if it gets you SO dangerously hot and heavy, I’ll stop bringing up the incident, ‘kay?” Would he really stop, though? Well, seeing as he had left it on that rather mocking note, perhaps the Joker would…not. No, Batman would never live it down.
The Joker would allow for a brief little respite from that line of taunting, however.
“So…” he began afresh, anew, gaze falling from the other man’s eyes in thought. They had to be contacts, those blue eyes…they were just so intense and determined…Then it occurred to the Joker all over again that behind that black cowl…there was a human there. He wondered who exactly it was behind the mask. And…why bats? It was just…strange. He could have picked something more universally feared or recognized. Like a spider. But honestly, bats? Weren’t they rodents of some sort?
Then again, who was the Joker to talk? He dressed like a clown.
“…So...so are you gonna dance with me or not?” the less-than-sane man accused suddenly, as if to make up for the earlier pause of silence that had crossed between them. He pulled on his hand insistently, as if just to get Batman’s attention (which was something at a similar level of maturity as standoffishly kicking a chair over).
~*!*~
Bruce shifted his feet uneasily; trying to disguise his discern with the idea that he was moving into a more comfortable position or that his legs were beginning to grown numb from standing in one place for such a long period of time. Which was a full-out lie. He'd only been standing there for no more than two minutes. But the way that maniacal clown stared at him was unnerving; those bottle-glass green eyes twinkling mischievously as the scrutinized every contour of his face--a perfect rendition of the 'cat caught the canary' expression. The dark-haired man was proud to say that he had mastered the ability to keep his thoughts and emotions locked away--as not to tamper with his physical being. So he was not all that concerned that the Joker could actually read his mind while scrutinizing his visage. At least, he hoped not...
"I don't dance." the Caped Crusader responded rather abruptly; yanking sharply on the Clown's incessantly moving appendage until he was sure to hear a satisfyingly audible 'pop'.
Okay, so he was a little sore about the constant teasing. Being taunted about the inadequacy to save a human life was one thing--he could deal with that. But all those well-placed jibes about grinding his worse enemy into a bar counter were like scalding hot iron rods to his gut. The Joker was actually questioning his sexual identity. But, again, why? What did that matter now? Alfred had once told him that it was a normal aspect of human nature to point out the faults in one person to defend and justify your own flaws. Was that what this was all about? The criminal mastermind was accusing Bruce of wanting to hump his polar opposite, given human form, because that's what he wanted to do...?
The logic only made the Batman jerk his arm back suddenly as if burned. The Clown Prince was obsessed--that much was obvious. In all reality, who was to say that obsession was the name of that razor-thin line between hate and love?
Venture onwards for more!
NOTE: I actually had a specific song in mind, for that little juke box moment. ^^ It's called 'Oh What A Night' by The Dells. Here's the link for those who are curious!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QjEZPCu0ESk
Disclaimer: We own NOTHING.
Bruce was almost too consumed in unadulterated rage to notice those venomous, emerald eyes wander down his figure; somewhere below his fully-stocked utility belt. The Batman strode forward, glass crackling beneath the soles of his boots as he lurched forward, grabbing hold of the madman by the front of his shirt and yanking him forward once more until his face smacked the liquor-stained counter. He then proceeded to lift that viciously-scarred face back up to meet him with a handful of those grungy, green curls. Bruce would openly confess that sometimes the Batman’s methods were unconventional and quite painful. But what did he care now about the limitations of the human body when the sick fuck in front of him was probably enjoying being tossed around like some macabre rag-doll.
“I’m getting sick of your antics, Joker,” Batman seethed, trying to use his frustration as a way to block out the Clown Prince’s sharp words. They were, by far, sharper than any of his little blades. Bruce straightened himself up, eyes following the contours of the Harlequin’s face where the smothering grease paint had been smeared away to reveal lightly tan, human flesh.
“Now, what do you want?! Why’d you escape from Arkham?” He interrogated. It couldn’t be money. There hadn’t been one single bank robbery in three months--impressive. And it couldn’t be another one of his twisted ‘social experiments’ for no hostages had been taken or bombs planted either. So what was it?
Bruce stepped back, his hands dropping to his sides with an invisible weight. Something about the Joker’s logic always seemed to make him stagger backwards or lash out in blind fury. He talked like he knew Bruce Wayne--Batman, better than he knew himself.
~*!*~
“Fuck…” muttered the far-from-innocent prankster as his face was lifted from the counter once more. And yet, still, he was laughing. He hardly made any move to even attempt to stop Batman from expressing his pure loathing. Because he liked it. This didn’t mean, though, that when the chance arrived he wouldn’t hurt the vigilante in some way. He surely didn’t want to kill him (no, because then there would be no point to anything!), but hurting him would be… fun. He could remember sicking those ravenous dogs on the Bat, and nearly beating him with that metal bar…he licked his lips at the thought of it. “Haven’t we been through this before, about not hitting people in the head because it makes them all fuzzy?” he asked, an air of rebellious challenge in his eyes as he gestured fluently with his hands.
“But that’s funny, Batman, because I’m not sick of you at all!” he insisted openly, chuckling madly afterwards, straining only somewhat against that sturdy hand that had such a good grip in his hair.
“Who /wouldn’t/ want to escape from Arkham? Of course I got out of there, simply because the place is boring! Not to mention the food is terrible. I think you would like the guards there. You like throwing people around, and kicking and punching at them….so you and the staff there would get along quite well, you both have similar hobbies,” he informed Batman quickly, wiping at his mouth for a moment, still laughing as if it were funny.
When Batman released his hold on him the Joker stood up, a certain look lingering behind his eyes as he stood there. He was probably debating whether or not to make Batman a human-dartboard for target-practice with his knives.
"Now, if you'd be mature, we could simply....talk. Like people. Ever heard of people before, Batman?" he jibed.
~*!*~
Batman shifted uncomfortably amongst the scattered debris; his long, billowing cloak moving almost as erratically as his thoughts. He still wanted to pound the maniacal clown’s face into the floor until it was nothing more than a bloody pulp--anything to destroy that jagged, scarlet grin.
“You’re going to be feeling a little more than fuzzy when I’m through with you,” he growled out, turning sharply on his heels and presenting his back to the psychotic jester. A bold move. But, for some reason, he didn’t quite think that the Joker was going to be trying to carve him up like a Christmas ham with a potato peeler tonight. He returned with an abrupt movement and the deft ‘snap’ of his wing-like cape. A rickety chair was slammed down between the two.
“Sit,” Bruce demanded in his best Batman voice. ‘Why am I trying to reason with criminals, now?’ he questioned himself. Tightening his fists once more, the Dark Knight fought to reign control of his fractured reserve. His kohl-lined eyes were blazing with poorly-restrained urges to throttle the clown. He couldn’t even think of why he was so infuriated. Was it because he was tired of playing these sadistic little games with the deranged criminal or was it something more; something more personal?
“You’ve got five minutes.” he declared; figuring that he’d let the Joker yap on about whatever ingenious little idea that’d been toddling around in his head for the last three months and then leave him tied up all nice and neat for Gordon’s unit to come pick up the trash.
~*!*~
The Joker raised his eyebrows, as if surprised by the fact that somebody (even if it were /the/ Batman) was trying to order him around. So, he lifted his foot slightly up off the ground, and bluntly kicked the chair over on it side when ordered to sit down upon it. No, he wasn’t about to attack the Bat…but he wasn’t about to follow the hero’s orders, either.
“Feel more than fuzzy? Ha…I didn’t know any better, Batman, I’d think you were shooting some sexual innuendo in my direction.” Then came that grin again, the one Batman so wanted to claw straight off of the clown’s relentlessly jeering face. The Joker looked to the staunch vigilante’s eyes, noticing and reveling in just how burning with fury they were.
The man took his time to stretch his arms (feeling a little cramped from getting tossed around like that) and then began to swagger over to the opposite end of the bar, moving swiftly, but not hastily at all. When he walked by the imposing figure in black, a smirk spread across his painted features as he made a little giggle, muttering, “If you were any more tense, your jaw would break.”
The Joker's point of destination was surprisingly not any sort of weapon, but rather…a jukebox. One that was a few decades old by the looks of it. “Our game….it’s fun.” He rose his hands up, fingers prickling in the air before setting down to mash some of the buttons together, eventually getting some song to come up. It was a swinging 50’s tune…something most people these days would recognize at all.
“Our game, you see…it’s like a dance. But a dance can only last so long as the song. And Batman…I think we need a new song…maybe one with…less explosions and more…of you.” the Ace of Knaves perked up onto his tip toes for a moment, and then flattened his feet against the ground energetically as he hopped to the middle of the dark room. He raised his arm, holding out his hand as if for the other man to take, the music still tinkling gaily, in the background,
“Wouldn’t it just be rude for you to refuse this offer?” chided the psychopath, waving his hand eagerly for the Batman to come over and take it.
~*!*~
The stoic vigilante observed his adversary’s blatant defiance with a growing scowl--one that possibly rivaled the one carved into his bat-headed mask. Of course the Joker wouldn’t take orders. Not from him, nor anyone else for that matter. He was the epitome of rebellion; an agent of anarchy and a hound of chaos. And he has just kicked that chair over much like an annoyed five year-old. He faintly caught the murderous jester’s comment as he passed by, moving about as a grape-colored blur in his peripheral vision.
‘Feel more than fuzzy? Ha, if I didn’t know any better, Batman, I’d think you were shooting some sexual innuendo in my direction”
The bat-like superhero almost didn’t catch himself from wrinkling his nose up in disgust. What was with this guy?! All of a sudden, the clown mockery had turned into some kind of sensual predator; circling his pray like a starving dog to raw meat. “Must you take everything out of context?” Batman mused to himself.
“You’re wasting your time.” Bruce remarked. It was so unnerving! There he was: a brooding statue clad in black standing in the middle of a partially desolated bar with a lithe madman leaping and bounding around him like some kind of demented cartoon character. It was making his stomach churn and twist into tight little knots. Suddenly an old song began to crackle through the eerie silence--an old little tune that he recalled Alfred listening to on countless occasions while fixing something up in the kitchen. He ventured to pivot on the spot, weary of the painted madman’s intentions.
‘Our game, you see, it’s like a dance. But a dance can only last so long as the song. And Batman, I think we need a new song, maybe one with less explosions and more of…you.’
Bruce nearly choked, sapphire optics widening almost comically. And then that hand was there--waiting oh-so-innocently for him like this truly was just some silly little dance. He glared down at the Joker’s hand; finding it too hard to focus on that ever-smiling face of his. He only then noticed that the other man was without gloves; his lightly tanned skin bared all the way up to his elbows. Something about that made him seem a little more…human?
“Got to hell, Joker,” he deadpanned.
~*!*~
“Aw, is somebody a little nervous? Has somebody got two left feet and is scared of a little dance, hrmm?” the Joker solicited, laughing to himself as he still positioned himself there with his hand outstretched. He watched with a look of interest as the knight’s initially shocked reaction morph into that of an infuriated glower.
“Go to hell? As if nobody has told me that before!” he declared loudly with something of an exasperated laugh, when really he was anything but. “C’mon Batsy,” the man in purple enticed, taking a few smooth strides towards the man whom he was speaking with. He purposely put almost husky emphasis on the ‘Batsy’ part of that sentence just to fray at the hero’s nerves, knowing the other man probably wouldn’t like being referred to in such a cutesy manner. “It can’t…be….that…bad!” he exclaimed hopping up once between each of his words as if he couldn’t contain himself. Which was true, the Joker was hardly known for his self-control at all.
“Is it the song?” the Joker asked, purposely mocking Batman by playing dumb and acting as if he had no clue as to why the crusader would refuse a dance with him, still stepping closer. He wavered for a moment before the symbol of absolute justice, the personification of chaos then snatching the vigilante’s hand tightly in his own and beginning to yank on him to the center of the floor. “Damn, you’re heavy….it must be the suit you’re wearing. Or all that misery. That…” he tilted his head with a twitch, looking for the correct term to describe what he was thinking, “…burden must weigh hard on your shoulders, Atlas. Ha! Or…maybe you should just cut back on the food?” He shot a coy smile back over his shoulder, curled strands of hair swinging with his head’s motions, looking rather proud about his reference to Greek mythology.
Once to the center of the bar, the Joker turned to face his ‘other half’ fully, still grasping at his hands tightly.
“This isn’t a waste of time at all. I find it to be quite the opposite. Maybe you want to leave though, right? Do I make you uncomfortable? Are you still crying over that humping comment? Oh, Batman, Batman, Batman…you shouldn’t let those little, little things get to you! Even though…it kind of was true!” he made a face and continued, “You were definitely ten seconds from attempting to grind me into the counter.”
~*!*~
Bruce fought his body’s impulse to simply roll his eyes at the Joker. He knew the other man was merely playing games with him--dangling his mauled sanity by a thin, plum-colored thread. In his mind, the Batman was absolutely fuming. He watched the murderous Harlequin step closer; giddy with excitement.
“Anything is bad enough if you’re involved.” he muttered, jaw clicking together almost painfully at the end of his words. The Joker took his hand and that rather surprised Bruce. What game was this, now? The Clown Prince was never one for physical manipulation. Or, at least, not as long as he had a drum of gasoline nearby or a blade in hand. He wanted to simply shake the other man off but that would be just as childish as kicking a chair over. And, anyhow, he always seemed to underestimate the maniacal clown’s strength. He let himself be drug over to the center of the room; somehow enjoying the green-haired man’s slight struggle with his sheer bulk. Maybe if the Joker was convinced that this was far too much work for such a small reaction--he would quit.
Not likely.
Batman tried to focus on the music buzzing away in the background from an antique Jukebox and not the painted devil’s jeering voice. He tightened his grip on the Clown’s hand satisfyingly until he could almost feel those little bones grind together. Beneath the black, polished surface of his plated armor--Bruce was debating whether or not to play at the psychopath’s new game. The cops wouldn’t be coming by anytime soon and perhaps, he might just get a better peek at that discombobulated clockwork ticking away inside the criminal mastermind’s skull.
‘You were definitely ten seconds from attempting to grind me into the counter.’
Bruce began to grind his teeth once more; the grip on the Joker’s hand only tightening until his fingers were practically digging into the other’s skin. He yanked the man forward by his hand, closing in on that vermillion grin. Brilliant azure eyes glared back into the poisonous emerald depths of the others; like two pairs of gems settled against black velvet facing one another.
“I don’t know what’s going on in that screwed up head of yours--but you can keep comments like that to yourself.” His voice dropped into a dangerously low baritone while still possessing that same, grating quality that struck fear into most criminals. Why was he stuck on that comment? Why couldn’t the theatrical criminal just drop it?!
~*!*~
At the constricting grip around his hand, the Joker tilted his head like a curious bird, then stealing another glance at what part of the Batman’s face was exposed, trying to seek out some sort of indication there was whatever could be going on inside the Bat’s mind. Well, he did know that on the inside, the Batman’s nerves were probably smoldering and on fire at being prodded and teased so much. But he did wonder what other spare thoughts could be laying around in there.
“But, you see: because you mind so much….that’s why I am going to keep bringing it up over and over again, until it drives you crazy. If you aren’t already. Ahaha!” the Joker shot back in cackling response to the low and threatening growl. He was never going to let that comment go at this point, because the Bat’s reaction to his series of jeers concerning it were most…priceless. He stumbled along with Batman’s harsh tug, going right with it like a leaf in a forceful gust of wind.
“I’m only speaking about what’s true, though….why should I keep my mouth shut about the truth? I should spread the word. If I didn’t tell the truth…now that would be a true…injustice,” he couldn’t help himself but add, making possibly the most fake innocent expression on his face afterwards that he had ever made, shrugging his shoulders as well. ‘But, if it gets you SO dangerously hot and heavy, I’ll stop bringing up the incident, ‘kay?” Would he really stop, though? Well, seeing as he had left it on that rather mocking note, perhaps the Joker would…not. No, Batman would never live it down.
The Joker would allow for a brief little respite from that line of taunting, however.
“So…” he began afresh, anew, gaze falling from the other man’s eyes in thought. They had to be contacts, those blue eyes…they were just so intense and determined…Then it occurred to the Joker all over again that behind that black cowl…there was a human there. He wondered who exactly it was behind the mask. And…why bats? It was just…strange. He could have picked something more universally feared or recognized. Like a spider. But honestly, bats? Weren’t they rodents of some sort?
Then again, who was the Joker to talk? He dressed like a clown.
“…So...so are you gonna dance with me or not?” the less-than-sane man accused suddenly, as if to make up for the earlier pause of silence that had crossed between them. He pulled on his hand insistently, as if just to get Batman’s attention (which was something at a similar level of maturity as standoffishly kicking a chair over).
~*!*~
Bruce shifted his feet uneasily; trying to disguise his discern with the idea that he was moving into a more comfortable position or that his legs were beginning to grown numb from standing in one place for such a long period of time. Which was a full-out lie. He'd only been standing there for no more than two minutes. But the way that maniacal clown stared at him was unnerving; those bottle-glass green eyes twinkling mischievously as the scrutinized every contour of his face--a perfect rendition of the 'cat caught the canary' expression. The dark-haired man was proud to say that he had mastered the ability to keep his thoughts and emotions locked away--as not to tamper with his physical being. So he was not all that concerned that the Joker could actually read his mind while scrutinizing his visage. At least, he hoped not...
"I don't dance." the Caped Crusader responded rather abruptly; yanking sharply on the Clown's incessantly moving appendage until he was sure to hear a satisfyingly audible 'pop'.
Okay, so he was a little sore about the constant teasing. Being taunted about the inadequacy to save a human life was one thing--he could deal with that. But all those well-placed jibes about grinding his worse enemy into a bar counter were like scalding hot iron rods to his gut. The Joker was actually questioning his sexual identity. But, again, why? What did that matter now? Alfred had once told him that it was a normal aspect of human nature to point out the faults in one person to defend and justify your own flaws. Was that what this was all about? The criminal mastermind was accusing Bruce of wanting to hump his polar opposite, given human form, because that's what he wanted to do...?
The logic only made the Batman jerk his arm back suddenly as if burned. The Clown Prince was obsessed--that much was obvious. In all reality, who was to say that obsession was the name of that razor-thin line between hate and love?
Venture onwards for more!
NOTE: I actually had a specific song in mind, for that little juke box moment. ^^ It's called 'Oh What A Night' by The Dells. Here's the link for those who are curious!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QjEZPCu0ESk