Summary: A further continuation of this and this.
Genre: I STILL dunno, AU I guess
Pairing:Joker/ Newly named!
Disclaimer:I don't believe anyone owns the Joker. Joker for all! But I bet DC comics and Warner Bros. might disagree.
Author Notes: Comments are our friend!
"Now," The joker began as he entered the room, what must've been hours later, "What to do with you." He surveyed her as she lay curled at the end of the bed with her head in her hands. Like ...well, a cat. She does take direction well, he had to admit.
He stood silent for a moment, then clicked his tongue as he brought his hands up as if to describe something yet falling short. His eyes narrowed. "Girls, pretty girls like you don't just wake up and decide to be anarchists. See, you come here saying you could be good for me?" he asked, sort of rolling his eyes as he did it. "Well, I think maybe you should think about what you're getting yourself into."
"I can handle it." she responded, her eyes meeting his. The Joker tightened his gloves and knelt beside the bed, putting barely an inch between their noses. "If you're not afraid of me then you should be." He seethed. She leaned forward, brushing her nose across his. "Not as long as I keep you pleased. If I fail that, well I have it coming right?"
The Joker laughed maniacally. She pulled back, and big smear of white grease paint left where the noses met. This only made the Joker laugh harder. She touched her nose and examined her hand. "I guess you're just rubbing off on me." she shrugged.
Once the howling subsided, the Joker stood and pulled her to an upright sitting position. "So you'll do anything I ask?" he asked, licking the corners of his mouth. She smiled and laid a hand of his knee, "Anything." His expression vacant, he responded "Would you kill for me?"
The question took her aback. She always took as a fact that he killed people, but she hadn't thought she might have to. Her hand went limp on his knee, and he hopped up gleeful. "We have a winner!" he announced, almost singsong.
"Who...do you want me to kill?" she asked quietly. "Who cares? Anybody. You pick." he said, pacing while off in his own head. "I have to quit my job tomorrow." she said, distracted. "Where do you work?" he asked, still enjoying how upset she seemed. "Oh, um...Gotham Armory." she replied.
He just stared at her. "Gotham...Armory?" he asked. "Gotham Armory." He was staring at her now. "Yeah, I'm a bookkeeper." As if completely raptured, The Joker shouted, "Boys, we're going on a field trip!" then he turned to her, "Tomorrow. Five hours." was all he said.
It was, to her thinking, amazing that sleep washed over her at all. Yet even with her mind pregnant with worry as to whether or not she had the nerve to go through with this and what might happen if she did not, she shook awake some three hours later at the foot of his bed. It was obvious he had not seen his bed that night. Hanging from the closet door was an elegant woman's business suit with a pleated skirt. It was black, and noticeably more muted than anything else in the building.
This must be what he thinks of me. She thought, and was immediately ashamed. Just one of the herd. She sighed and looked at the clock. 7:15 AM. Then it occurred to her, I'm supposed to kill someone in two hours. She immediately said out loud, "Larry Haskin."
Of course her immediate thought was Larry Haskin. Larry, her middleweight boss and without doubt the busiest hands in Gotham. If she had a nickel for every time he had grabbed her ass in that office she could buy out Bruce Wayne; and to be honest, she had more than once imagined just grabbing a paperweight and wailing on him. But this is different.
While she was lost in thought, in strolled the Joker with a giddy high about him. "You better hurry up. We have things no do." he said in a merry tone, "Go shower, time-a-wastin'. By the way, what kind of security does this place have anyway?"
Snapping out of it and turning to meet his gaze, she hazily responded, "Oh, its sad really. A magnetic security lock keeps everything. It's a company joke how easy it would be to rip it off." Looking as though he didn't get it, the Joker replied, "So you could accomplish this?" She smiled, "Easily."
As the cool water cascaded over her body, she began to wonder why exactly impressing this man seemed to mean so much to her. Why was she doing this? she thought. Acknowledging that after this, there was no going back. She couldn't pretend it had never happened after today. She wasn't only killing an asshole at work, every aspect of that life had to die also.
She had to abandon all of that and learn how to be someone new. When she emerged from the shower, sitting on the counter was a plain white box with a crimson sheet of parchment lay on top. She picked up the parchment and written in the darkest pigment she had ever seen:
You never forget your first.
Have fun out there.
Never forget, the greaest joke
ever told will always offend someone.
Inside the box was a black butterfly knife. It wasn't an especially large knife. It was, however, so sharp that the first time she opened it she cut herself deeply. The blood spilled out across the sink and stained the already redder-that-red parchment. She just stood there watching the blood spill thickly like wax down her hand until the door opened.
"Fetishist or Emo Kid?" he said dryly, "Lets get you cleaned up." Embarrassed, she simply sat on the toilet, her hand hovering over the sink. "It was an accident." "Yeah yeah," he mumbled while pulling gauze from the pantry, "Luckily for you in my line of work you get pretty good at cleaning this stuff up. If you ever want to get good at this line of work you better stop falling on every knife you see. There, ta-da!" he exclaimed, producing a clean and wrapped hand.
"I sure hope you do a better job with whoever at the Armory. You have a plan yet?" he asked. "Working on it." she replied, admiring his handiwork, "Maybe I'll just ask him if he wants to know how I got these scars." The Joker muttered, "Women." and walked out.
Larry met her at the door, "You're late!" "I know, I know I'm late." she interjected, "You will not believe the night I had." "I don't care if you ran away and joined the circus!" he snarled, "Wetherby has given me the authority to terminate people, and examples must be made."
Shocked, she stammered, "I've never been late before. I stay late, you're firing me?" A smile spread across his face, "Maybe if you had been a little friendlier to your boss this wouldn't have been such a big deal, but what can you do..." he placed a hand at the small of her back to emphasize his point and all at once any amount of apprehension was gone.
"Listen, I cannot lose my job." she whispered, "We can work something out." He straightened, "What do you have in mind?" With desperation in her eyes, she whispered "Meet me in the alarm room in five minutes?"
The magnetic lock that basically kept millions of dollars worth of weaponry secure was installed in 1972. Its operated by electricity, and has only one standby. If you trip both, all the doors open. In essence, the only real security to the Gotham Armory is that so few know the previous two facts.
She was sitting up on the counter when he entered, looking about and locked the door. "So, what are we doing in here?" he asked, mock swagger as he unbuttoned his coat and approached her. She fumbled with her purse, "I just need you to understand..." He pressed to her, "Oh, I do understand. I think you and I are going reach a mutually beneficial agreement." he says as he lightly stroked the inside of her thigh, "You know, we're not that different, you and I."
She tilted her head and pursed her lips, "Yeah, you know, we do kind of favor. For example..." she rolled her eyes, searching for the words, "I bet you're barely gonna feel it." At that moment, she grabbed his tie pulled it close and quickly stabbed him. He pulled away, stunned as blood seeped slowly across his shirt.
Exhilarated, she hopped down and rushed his, stabbing at least three more times before he collapsed in the corner. Terrified, he grabbed at his midsection and gargled at bit before panicking, asking, "Why?" She leaned down, almost high, and responded "I was gonna quit today anyway." With that she sighed, stepped over him to pull out the circuit to the locks, pulled out her phone and pressed send.
The Armory then erupted. Smoke, gunfire, and a mob of clowns rounding up as many firearms as could be carried out. Standing in the center of it all was the Joker, whose eyes immediately fixed as she emerged from the back breathless, her hands covered in blood. A smile stretched across her face and she made her way out the back door.
There waiting was a large black Gotham PD panel van. Panic washed over her until it opened to reveal more of the mob, their arms outstretched to pull her up. "So, did 'ya do it?" one asked. "What? Oh, yes." she nodded.
"Damn it, I owe that bastard $100 bucks." said another. The Joker had bet in my favor. she thought, and as relief washed over her she began to laugh uncontrollably. "That's what we want to hear!" the Joker cried as he and the rest of the mob loaded into the van with the take. "Somebody owes you money." She laughed in between gasps of air.
After calming herself and on the way back, she looked around at the boys and suddenly she realized she had their respect. She was one of them. "I always imagined..." she said to no one in particular, "that the second you...did something like that, the police appeared. That they dropped down form the ceiling or something. I never thought for a second you could just kill somebody and walk away in broad daylight."
The Joker blinked hard and looked right at her, "Desdemona." was all he said. She looked around, "What?" He stretched and brought both hands up descriptively, "Do you have any idea...how man people I have killed?" She smiled nervously, "No, I don't."
The Joker bit the inside of his cheek, "No, neither do I offhand. I don't keep a count." He waved his hands around in a very animated fashion. "The point is...I've only been arrested once and that's be-cause I wanted to be. The only joke more sad that the believed presence of justice is the concept that these people supply it."
She nodded, "Point. What is 'Desidera'?" The Joker shook his head, "No, no. DesdeMONA is from Shakespeare. She has an unorthodox relationship too. It's the name I want you to have." She Pondered for a moment, "Does it work out, her relationship?"
"Her lover strangles her to death because of a rumor of her infidelity." the Joker replies dryly. Desi leans back onto a large canvas bag and sighs, "I like it. But, I'm going by Desi."
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