Going for an evening stroll - OTA
He'd spent his life being underestimated. His teachers as a child, his parents and peers. His bosses at the many jobs he'd tried to hold and all his enemies. The Joker had gotten used to being underestimated. It was to his advantage, really. It was so much easier to make people suffer when they didn't see it coming.
He hadn't really been surprised when he found himself standing in the middle of a park when he should have been on a back street in Gotham, carving up Sarah Gordon. Strange things happened every day. It was just a new place to have fun in, with all these unsuspecting people. He would learn first, watch, observe, gather. He would hoard, hoard, hoard like a chipmunk getting ready for winter and then he would enjoy himself. The thought had him giggling.
He laughed even harder when he found the shooting range. So many guns, so unguarded. He'd found his knives waiting for him in his room, but here was something bigger, something with a little more bang. It had been simple enough to plant the diluted venom around town and even simpler to slip into the range with a pair of bolt cutters. He hadn't cleaned it out, just took a few toys, and left the broken locks swinging open. He was done hiding for now. He could let people know he was here. It would be amusing.
He'd left the stolen guns in his room, just bringing his knives as he took a stroll while the sun set. He was here for the duration. He'd stir things up. He'd make some friends, or not. He giggled again. Friends. Who needed friends when enemies were so plentiful?
He hadn't really been surprised when he found himself standing in the middle of a park when he should have been on a back street in Gotham, carving up Sarah Gordon. Strange things happened every day. It was just a new place to have fun in, with all these unsuspecting people. He would learn first, watch, observe, gather. He would hoard, hoard, hoard like a chipmunk getting ready for winter and then he would enjoy himself. The thought had him giggling.
He laughed even harder when he found the shooting range. So many guns, so unguarded. He'd found his knives waiting for him in his room, but here was something bigger, something with a little more bang. It had been simple enough to plant the diluted venom around town and even simpler to slip into the range with a pair of bolt cutters. He hadn't cleaned it out, just took a few toys, and left the broken locks swinging open. He was done hiding for now. He could let people know he was here. It would be amusing.
He'd left the stolen guns in his room, just bringing his knives as he took a stroll while the sun set. He was here for the duration. He'd stir things up. He'd make some friends, or not. He giggled again. Friends. Who needed friends when enemies were so plentiful?