Post by The Joker on Aug 7, 2010 19:39:44 GMT -7
A person couldn’t even pee in privacy in Arkham. Nope, everyone got a guard at their back when it was time to take a potty break. Time, because bathroom breaks were scheduled so as to maintain maximum control over the patients. Some were so sedate that they could be shuffled around in groups. Others were so high-risk they required several guard escorts and solitary transportation.
“Uuuuuugh…”
“Joker, keep it down.”
“Can’t you see I’m in pain?”
“What are you talking about?”
“It burns when I pee.”
“What?”
“I said,” he spun around, a modified crème brûlée torch in hand. “It BURNS when I pee! HA!” With that, the torch sprang to life, spitting searing blue and white flames at the guards. They would have reached for their pepper spray and clubs had they not dropped to the ground in an attempt to roll the flames away. The Joker cackled and jumped over their flailing, flaming bodies. He darted down the hallway, his laughter bouncing off the walls. He torched any guards that got in his way. When he ran out of fluid, he tossed the torch into a janitor’s bin and grabbed a bottle of cleaner. He set it to the single stream and pulled a lighter out of his scrubs. Passing staff and doctors were treated to a flaming splash of chemicals as the white and green blur whizzed by.
“See you in a week, boys! Daddy’s gotta go back to work!” All that remained of the Joker was an echoing laugh and the flaming Arkham employees he left in his wake.
Joker wasn’t a fool. He had Harley arrange to have his “special order” delivered to a motel of her choice so that she would have it waiting for him when he arrived at the safe house – lest he have to resort to corporal punishment for her mistake. Sure, she was never told when he’d arrive, but that was part of the fun. It kept his gal on her toes. He had stayed in Arkham for quite some time, and was almost looking forward to seeing those big blue eyes.
With a lifted hoodie and a set of jeans, Joker took the mental map he had memorized to the safehouse of the day. He hummed as he skipped along the pavement bare-footed, giggling each time he stepped on a small pebble or tiny piece of glass. A good 45 minutes passed before he was at his super-secret hideout. He pushed his hood back, put on his best grin, and swung the door open.
“Harley, baby! Daddy’s home!” Joker screeched into the warehouse. “It’s been too long! Much too long….” He grumbled, “I’ll have a word with you about that later.” Joker unzipped his jacked and tossed it aside, the bright orange tee-shirt practically glowing against his paper-white skin. “Now, where is that package?” He scanned the room, scratching at the green stubble on his chin as he looked.
“HARLEY! Where is that package?! Don’t tell me you forgot again! You know Mr. Palm hates when you forget!” Of course he didn’t need to wear the purple suit. It was just a nice touch. A sort of big ole cherry on a sundae. It was also something to keep his Harley busy. She needed her exercise, like all pets. Ordering it was hard enough, and it was so easy to get the wrong measurements – more so difficult when Joker gave her the wrong ones so she would have to order it again with sight in only one eye.
Something else wasn’t in the room. Oh, right. “HARLEY!”
“Uuuuuugh…”
“Joker, keep it down.”
“Can’t you see I’m in pain?”
“What are you talking about?”
“It burns when I pee.”
“What?”
“I said,” he spun around, a modified crème brûlée torch in hand. “It BURNS when I pee! HA!” With that, the torch sprang to life, spitting searing blue and white flames at the guards. They would have reached for their pepper spray and clubs had they not dropped to the ground in an attempt to roll the flames away. The Joker cackled and jumped over their flailing, flaming bodies. He darted down the hallway, his laughter bouncing off the walls. He torched any guards that got in his way. When he ran out of fluid, he tossed the torch into a janitor’s bin and grabbed a bottle of cleaner. He set it to the single stream and pulled a lighter out of his scrubs. Passing staff and doctors were treated to a flaming splash of chemicals as the white and green blur whizzed by.
“See you in a week, boys! Daddy’s gotta go back to work!” All that remained of the Joker was an echoing laugh and the flaming Arkham employees he left in his wake.
Joker wasn’t a fool. He had Harley arrange to have his “special order” delivered to a motel of her choice so that she would have it waiting for him when he arrived at the safe house – lest he have to resort to corporal punishment for her mistake. Sure, she was never told when he’d arrive, but that was part of the fun. It kept his gal on her toes. He had stayed in Arkham for quite some time, and was almost looking forward to seeing those big blue eyes.
With a lifted hoodie and a set of jeans, Joker took the mental map he had memorized to the safehouse of the day. He hummed as he skipped along the pavement bare-footed, giggling each time he stepped on a small pebble or tiny piece of glass. A good 45 minutes passed before he was at his super-secret hideout. He pushed his hood back, put on his best grin, and swung the door open.
“Harley, baby! Daddy’s home!” Joker screeched into the warehouse. “It’s been too long! Much too long….” He grumbled, “I’ll have a word with you about that later.” Joker unzipped his jacked and tossed it aside, the bright orange tee-shirt practically glowing against his paper-white skin. “Now, where is that package?” He scanned the room, scratching at the green stubble on his chin as he looked.
“HARLEY! Where is that package?! Don’t tell me you forgot again! You know Mr. Palm hates when you forget!” Of course he didn’t need to wear the purple suit. It was just a nice touch. A sort of big ole cherry on a sundae. It was also something to keep his Harley busy. She needed her exercise, like all pets. Ordering it was hard enough, and it was so easy to get the wrong measurements – more so difficult when Joker gave her the wrong ones so she would have to order it again with sight in only one eye.
Something else wasn’t in the room. Oh, right. “HARLEY!”