some heroes are always (goodforalaugh) wrote in rooms, @ 2015-01-08 20:15:00 |
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Entry tags: | !dc comics, *log, bruce wayne, jim gordon, joker |
log: joker, gordon, eventually bats, maybe dick, maybe jason? idk
Who: Joker & Gordon to start, others to follow
What: Well, hello
Where: Joker's place
When: Now
Warnings: Violence, immediately and inevitably.
... past the steel mill, and down by the water was where the Gotham fairgounds had been left to rot. The grounds once had their hey day, in prior decades where the mob maintained the city before the rogues started to take over. The land was mineral-rich, the bay was right there, partially frozen and bringing gusts of snow-flecked air along with it. There was a ferris wheel that no longer spun, it was three stories high, but the lights worked after years of not and that, more than any strung up bodies, was a sign that the Joker was back. His own personal signal to light up the night sky.
The fairgrounds had high gates, old chainlink replaced by high barbs of steel and twisted wire. The main entrance was mostly obscured by a tipped over ice cream truck. Above that, in green neon lighting, some letters blinked. JOKER LAND. It was like Wonderland but better because the Mad Hatter was some kind of fucking weirdo that even make the Joker raise a brow on bad days.
Beyond the tipped truck, there was an opening. An open plot the size of an acre that was patroled by men in clown paint, armed with stolen cop guns and a couple submachines. When the Joker came around, Gotham was good for dropping of prices on black market goods. Really, it was a good price or a good knife in the throat and the choice always seemed easy enough for people to make.
Doors led into JokerLand, which was basically a renovated trucking facility. There were not many people inside, just conveyer belts and lots of spray paint HaHaHas. Broken Harlequin dolls with their heads ripped off were another frequency, they littered the floor here and there. But it was upstairs, either through the building or taken by the steel stairs from the outside, that the Joker waited. There was a steel set of sliding doors from that second story that overlooked the open acre of patrolmen below, but it was cold and if the Bat was coming, they'd all be in Arkham by morning, so who needed the show? So the doors were closed to conserve warmth.
J-baby was busy setting the mood. Candlelight. A table with two chairs, a shivering Maître d stood in one corner, blood smearing his white shirt but disappearing at the black of his cumberbund. It was a little too Penguin-y for Joe's tastes, which was probably why the man was wearing a smear of red lipstick as he stood by with a bucket of uncorked champagne in a metal bucket of ice.
"Where is the mood music? You're supposed to be setting the mood! You've been promoted, or have you forgotten?" And the Joker, from his seat, pointed to the dead DJ slumped in the corner. The Maître d, quaking like a fault line, made his way to the laptop and hit play on the ITunes. played a song, and the Joker nodded approvingly. There was no way Batman was down with the Dubstep. He'd save that for the littlest bat who lived, the Franken-Bat, when they had their inevitable date.