Who: The Joker and Loki Where: Gotham, NJ. A new hideout of sorts. When: October 31th, Night (FORWARD DATED LIKE WHOA) What: The Clown Prince of Crime meets The God of Mischief. Let the knock-knock jokes begin. Rating: R? Notes: Heya Gail. Let me know if you want me to change it.
It was the steady rush of water that woke him first from the fitful sleep. If it could even qualify as such. The damage done to him had been extensive and his body had been on the mend for months. The whole endeavor was exhausting and left his usually lean frame nothing but flesh, sinew and bone. A malevolent glance was turned upon the sewage that rushed through the bowels of the city. The Joker, it seemed, had gone to ground.
The lair had been a former hideaway of Killer Croc's and it was unlikely to receive visitors. Given that the beast could barely rub two thoughts together, the Clown Prince of Crime was positive Waylon had yet to take leave of Arkham. He was certain no one would stumble across his hideaway. For weeks now he'd been building his strength with the act of getting out of bed and crawling around the lair. Slowly his strength returned and today was the final test.
Ethereal flesh slapped against the wet concrete of the underground path as the Ace of Knaves staggered toward his destination. Reaching the ladder had been the easy part and it was the ascent that had his body screaming in excruciating ecstasy. The grate at the top of the ladder open with a clatter that was cause for little concern. With a grunt of effort he pulled himself up into the warehouse. Before him stretched a dimly lit storage facility. His hands moved along the wall until those deceptively strong digits came to rest on the light switch. Halogen bulbs hummed to life and revealed to the madman several large objects bound tightly in cloth tarps. As The Joker pushed forward he was panting with effort. But with each breath out, laughter tainted the escaping CO2.
Metal hissed upon metal as a knife slide from it's sheath. A flick of his wrist severed the bindings and the cloth began to unfurl before his very eyes. In the tarp's wake a cloud of dust rippled outward as it spooled at his feet. The mixture of metal and polished wood gleamed in the glare of the halogen bulbs. It muted the darks and intensified the bright colors and grinning faces. With the push of a button, the Merry-Go-Round kicked to life with a demented cadence of circus music. The sound brought forth the first fit of laughter and he was wheezing by the time it had subsided. It was time to get back to work.