The Joker has been at it for days. So many bugs, so much toxin to spray. He's currently slumped against a tree, on the outskirts of town, chuckling softly. It's much calmer than the maniacal laughter that was present mere minutes ago, as he watched another schmuck wiggle awkwardly on a bench in town, an amused look on their face. A canister of the toxin is laying carelessly beside him, empty now, as some bugs nearby twitch with glee. He leans his head back, still chuckling to himself (it's really hard to stop laughing), looking up at the tree branches.