Joker: Other: Furthering Xellos' Plan
He doesn’t know why he didn’t think of the toxin immediately when Xellos brought up the plan. Been too long since he used it. The increasing headaches were probably not helping the situation. Little souvenirs from his “therapy” at Arkham. They certainly weren’t helping him remember all the things he would need. But he worked through the pain, and he got his list prepared.
He doesn't even think anything of the fact that he has left Margate's technical city limits. After all, Margate is his home and that's how he thinks of it. The night guard at the lab had been easy enough to get by. Oh, how he wanted to dispose of him, slowly, in pieces, or quickly, in a nice explosion, but he didn’t need the extra attention right now. Without henchmen, without his old network, he’d have to do this differently. It took several days and several trips, but he now had a working chemistry lab set up in the corner of the warehouse. He didn’t exactly know why chemistry came easy to him; his memories were so mixed up with all the stories he’d concocted and the things that “therapy” had planted in his brain.
First, he had to recreate the original toxin. He carefully mixed the volatile ingredients, watched the mix move through the glass tubes. At moments it seemed to be going well, and he’d hum a tune as he worked. Others he’d get stuck and frustrated and growl and smash things to bits. When he finally had the first batch, it was time to test it.
His found his first test subject (actually, he pulled the poor shmuck off his ride-on lawn mower on a weekend morning). He gave him gradually increased doses. Couldn’t kill him right off if he was going to get this right. He relished his role, part mad scientist, but the effects made accurate documentation difficult. “Yes, so very funny, but how does it make you FEEL? STOP LAUGHING!” When the first one was finally used up, sprawled out with a permanent smile, the Joker spent a few days making adjustments to the formula. He talked out loud to the corpse, and to the chemicals (of course it works, don’t you hear them answering?). He laughed when he succeeded and growled when he failed and curled into a fetal ball when the headaches got too strong. And then, when he thought it was right, he nabbed his second victim. Poor, pretty girl, out for a late night jog. Good thing he was focused, he told her as she cried, or he might have had a little extra fun with her, it’s been so long since he’d held someone down and carved circles in their flesh. This one definitely died laughing, if there was pain, she never noticed it.
Next he set out to catch bugs. Not hard near the warehouse. He managed to get the liquid dose right, after several attempts, and then made the adjustments to create the aerosol version of the toxin. All pleasure, all hilarity, no pain at all. Nothing until they laughed so hard that they couldn’t breath (not that they’d notice), nothing but funny until their hearts stopped.
Now, standing at the worktable (back to his normal, not-11-and-awkward-self), shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, he loaded it into an old-style fumigation sprayer. This time, a whole jar of bugs waited. But he didn’t want to do this final test without an audience.
He climbed the steps to the office overlooking the warehouse floor, where he’d set up a sleeping area. Holiday novelty lights crisscrossed the ceiling, providing the only light currently in the room. Sitting on the cot there and opening a drawer, he pulls out and regards the block, which had been attached to a bottle of vitamin E oil (which he has tried, and it makes his skin feel very nice, thankyouverymuch, not that he’ll admit it). He hopes that Xellos will understand and appreciate what it means, to be invited here. Not sure how it could possibly work, he pulls a knife out of his pocket, makes a short, shallow cut on his palm, and turns it over to let a drop fall onto the block.