just_joking (just_joking) wrote in newalliance, @ 2012-03-09 20:37:00 |
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Entry tags: | harley quinn, joker |
Who: Harleen Quinzel and The Joker
NPCs: Arkham Guards
When: Early 2009 (BACKDATED)
Where: Arkham Asylum
What: Harleen Quinzel meets Joker for the first time.
Rating: PGish
Tumblers and locks fell into place with a loud clank and the metal squealed in protest as the door swung inward. A buzzer went off as the trio of guards escorted their prisoner through the last check point. The man, no, the monster they escorted was flanked on either side by two, muscle bound grotesques. They were new here; cocky even. They caught a glimpse of the clown prince in his native habitat and thought the stories hadn't been true; falsities; exaggerations. The poor, ignorant bastards. Thoughts of ending such pathetic lives danced among the synaptic responses firing in his brain. The feel of their life slipping away almost drowned out their words.
"You'd think by now they would just give this up." One guard said to the other.
"Yeah. A freak like you doesn't have any need of their help." The guard jerked roughly on Joker's arm. The sudden shift was meant to throw him off balance. The kick that followed dropped him to his knees.
"All our problems from you would be solved with bullet." The guards hauled him up and began to drag him through the bowels of the Asylum. Their foot falls slowed and the lead guard opened a steel door. The inside revealed dents in the frame and discolorations that could only have come from human occupancy.
The clown was "escorted" to a seat and forcefully placed in the chair. His back was to the door and his legs held in place by a pair of hand cuffs. His arms struggled inside the sleeveless coat as he watched their movements with glittering eyes. His gaze never faltered until they left the room. He gave them a send off by sucking air through his teeth and turning away to examine his new prison. It seemed another fool hardy quack was going to take a run at him this time.
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The steady click of heels echoed down the long stretch of hallway. The steps were unnaturally precise, a forced movement to appear calm and determined. Harleen Quinzel rarely had such control, but today was a special day. Today, her hard work and persistence would set the standard for psychiatrists throughout the world. Today was the day she would meet the Joker.
Though young and, according to some, inexperienced, Harley had shown that she was more than capable of her duties. It only took a little ahem persuasion to ensure she was allowed to use what she had learned in the most applicable way. Ever since the Joker had first made Gotham his twisted carnival, Harley had been watching. Newspaper clippings, ill-gotten photos, and notes upon notes of personal research had been collected through the years and studied. No one understood the man the way she did and soon, it would show.
As she rounded the last corner, her pace quickened with the drumming of her heart. The Joker, her patient, was mere feet away and she knew with him came a new life. This was her chance to prove herself and she was going to knock the good doctors of Arkham Asylum dead.
"He's all yours, doctor," came the greeting of one of the guards. He looked wholly unimpressed by the petite blonde before him, dressed far too nicely for the position she was in.
Harley adjusted her glasses and took one finally glance down at the simple legal pad she had brought with her. It was all she needed. Everything else would come from memory. "Thank you I will let you know when we are finished."
The second guard looked more concerned than his co-worker. "You sure you wanna go in there alone?" he asked. The stern look on the young woman's face was the only reply he got. "Alright. Good luck." He opened the door and stepped aside.
She hadn't realized she had stopped breathing until the door was firmly closed behind her and she was truly alone with the man who would change her forever. Righting herself straight, she inhaled deeply and found the courage to speak. "Hello, Mister Joker," she began, walking around the front of the table to stand before him. "My name is Harleen Quinzel. I'll be looking after you from now on."
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The muffle of voices from beyond the door was the only indication he needed. His new doctor was here. Joy. His head slumped forward, his chin resting against his chest. From the outside observer it would appear that he was sleeping.
The clatter of the door opening and closing caused the muscles in his cheek to spasm. The perpetually inflamed flesh seared as the muscles contracted. Her words caused his head to turn ever so slightly as she walked around the table. The monster tipped his head up and he stared at her with dark eye behind a currently of seaweed green hair. Those malevolent eyes drilled into her as she spoke. His tongue traced the inner lining of his scars, increasing the pain.
"Here to look after me?" The clown began, his voice surprisingly smooth for someone normally so volatile. His words were off as his voice pitched at odd intervals, adding inflections in all the wrong spots.
"I think I'm a little old for a baby sitter, Doc." He replied, his lips pulling back in a grin.
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If he was meant to be insulting, she was oblivious. She simply tapped her pencil against the paper, absorbing his words and his being. She was awestruck, but the next few minutes of their conversation were too important to give way to fantasy. "I simply want to get to know you better," she told him honestly. "And I hope you will feel inclined to get to know me as well." The pencil dropped from her hand and rolled from the pad of paper to settle on the desk. Her hands were now safely nestled in her lap, doing her best to appear professional. "Let's start with something easy. If you would like, during are times together, you may call me Harley. All of my friends do." The smile never faltered as she waited to see if he would reciprocate the small, yet meaningful gesture.
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Get to know him better? Was she serious? Did she expect this little routine to work? He had been responsible for the deaths of hundreds and literally brought cities to a stand still with his jokes. Was this dime story routine really expected to get her somewhere?
It was absurd. A joke. A... well now.. Maybe she knew what she was doing. A smile smirk tipped the edge of his mouth. At the very least maybe he could have a little fun with her.
"Harley?" He tried the word out, rolling the syllables around in his mouth. It seemed to please him. Joker shifted in his chair, the ankle cuffs clinking upon the metal of the chair. "Well then, Harley. You may call me Joker."
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Harley visibly perked up as he answered her in what she deemed a respectable manner. It was further than a could of doctors had gotten in their first few minutes with the clown prince which only further proved that this was where she belonged. "Very well, Mister J-," she stopped and cleared her throat, ridding herself momentarily of professionalism. "Joker. I am going to ask you a handful of questions. You do not have to answer any if you don't wish, but for every question you do answer, you may ask me one in return." She nervously fidgeted in the uncomfortable steel chair, unused to being seated in such a rigid position. Harley was much more comfortable with her feet tucked under her, huddled close to the table.
With a slight adjustment to her position, she was all smiles once more. "I'll begin. How are the guards treating you here?"
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Joker was on the verge of snorting at her reaction but stifled that impulse. She was certainly pleased with herself, wasn't she? Like an eager little puppy. It would break her little heart to have him visibly laugh in her face. No no no, that wouldn't do. The hurt would be too superficial. That would have to wait.
"Only a handful?" He turned his face down to stare at the stainless steel of the table. He clinked the metal of the cuffs strapped to his legs.
"The guards?" He spared her a glance and then dipped his head back down, lanky hair falling into place. It concealed the brief little grin that crossed his face. "They're the same as always." The clown shifted uncomfortably. "On edge. Forceful." His bit his lip, struggling with the last word. "Abusive."
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The young doctor reached for her pencil, priming herself to take notes on his reactions, but her hand was frozen in place above the writing instrument, struck by the sincerity of his words. This was no monster. This was a man beaten beyond understanding, or so they claimed, and it was all their fault.
"I-" she struggled to speak, knowing comforting words were not meant for this conversation. "I will talk to the guards," she finished briskly, dropping her hand on the table. Her fingers twitched, unused to sitting helpless as another suffered. A brief touch or a kind smile could do wonders, but policy was strict and one misstep would take away her chance of ever giving this man the help he deserved. "You do have rights as a patient, they need to acknowledge that.
"You answered my question. You may ask me one of your own, if you wish." She hoped this would provide ample distraction from the horrors he had been inflicted by the men meant as much for his safety as her own.
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Joker's head tipped ever so slightly and he peered up at her with half lidded eyes. He seemed to search her expression for some form of reaction but did not find what he was looking for. His head dropped again and he looked away.
"It won't make a difference." He stated calmly, almost detatched and devoid of all emotions. Here sat a broken, misunderstood monster. "They just don't understand."
Her offer of tit-for-tat, question for question, was alluring. But she'd have her guard up. No useful information would be gleaned from asking her out right. So he went with, "What do you call a cow with no legs?"
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How could they understand? No one here was willing to give them man a chance despite the oaths they had taken. He was the responsibility of Arkham now, but no one wanted to believe in him. Harley was determined to prove to him that she, unlike the others, was there for him. It would take time for him to understand that, but she would be there for him as long as it took.
Harley prepared herself for the strange questions that were about to escape him. She wondered how much she could divulge about her personal life without crossing too many lines or giving away secure information. However, his set-up for a joke caught her off-guard. "A cow with no legs?" she repeated, her head canting to the side. "I don't know. What?"
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The joke was an old one. He hardly ever told it. There was an inkling of a memory. A stage. A setup, the thunderous sound of 'Boo' from the gathered crowd. Or perhaps that had merely been a dream.
But this was reality and the multiple pasts he made were of no concern to him now. Joker shifted as well, muscles straining against unyielding metal. His head shook away the curtain of hair and dark, perpetually bruised eyes locked with hers. "A cow with no legs.. Is called 'Ground Beef.'"
The laughter that came next caused him to shake with each exhale and giggle.
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The young woman laughed, the sound sweet and sincere. However old the joke may have been, or simple, she found true enjoyment from the punchline and let him know it. "That's very good," she said with a large smile. It was the first true smile that she had given him, one that showed her eagerness to please and the naivety in which she would do so. "Would you tell me another one?" she asked, the stuffy tone she had used on him before fading as she began relax. She had no concern in keeping up appearances at that moment.
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The clowns laughter continued for some time, the sound changing in pitch and form. Eventually it began to die down and the silence that followed hung there. It broken by her request for another joke. What did she think he was, her personal entertainer?
Joker stared at her for a moment before he ran his tongue over dry, cracked lips. His voice dropped considerably and she'd have to lean in to hear him. "What did the lawyer name his daughter?" His heart clearly wasn't in it.
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The distinct change left Harley unsettled. She had hoped that another joke would make him feel more comfortable when it had, apparently, done the exact opposite. She pursed her lips, deciding whether or not to request the answer or to change the topic quickly.
"I'm sorry," she began quietly, taking full blame for the sudden change in mood. "I wasn't trying to upset. I would like to know the answer, though. Perhaps you can tell me at another time? For now, why don't you ask me a question?"
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"Sue." The Joker replied, his cheek twitching in the approximation of a smirk. The joke was another groan worthy weapon from his repertoire. The change in mood was to throw her off, keep her unbalanced. She wanted to play a little game, then he'd change the rules and knock down the walls she was trying to build.
"I've never been one for following the rules." Joker said and he leaned his body forward. Though his arms were bound in a sleeveless jacket, his elbows still rested on the steel of the table. Joker looked at her from under his brow, his eyebrows quirking up. "I'll save my questions for later."
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Harley offered a polite life. The joke was one she recalled from the end of an unnaturally red Popsicle she had enjoyed a few days prior. She decided not to mention either to him.
"Very well. You will have to keep your own tally, though." She instinctively reached for the long-forgotten pencil and once again began to tap it to the beat of her current favorite pop song. "I know how the guards are treating you, but what about the other doctors? Have any of them been cruel to you?" She had to know what they had been doing wrong from his perspective to ensure that she would not make the same mistakes.
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"Cruel?" At that the Joker did snort. "Those men couldn't fathom the shallow end of cruelty." His tongue lashed across his lips. Joker knew something about cruelty. These men were amateurs and wouldn't know how to make an infant cry. The clown turned his face away, suddenly struggling with words.
"They don't understand anything. They try to label and pigeon hole everything. Like everyone fits so easily into their descriptions. So many expectations that I don't meet." Joker slouched lower. "It's like dealing with my father all over again. Now that's cruelty.." Joker fell silent eyes distant as if lost in a memory. Laughter was quite hard to contain.
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Harley realized all too late the poor choice of words. She stiffened as she awaited the response of his answer and subtly started to play with the ends of the notepad to keep herself calm. She was going to have to be more careful from now on. Fortunately this time, it seemed there was more on her patients mind.
She offered a frown and a nod of sympathetic understanding. Her co-workers may have been praised for their work, but that was simply because of the patients they chose. When it came to truly helping one of the most troubled individuals to cross the gates of Arkham, they were useless. She was the only one who could help him now and he was beginning to sense that.
"Your father?" she asked with sudden intrigue. He had never mentioned family in any of his other sessions. "Can you tell me about him? Anything that you remember."
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His abdomen ached from the effort of keeping his laughter at bay. It was like a hyena trying to control itself. The mask he wore was practically flawless and as he tried to recall the 'painful' memories of his father, his lower lip quivered. Or maybe it was another spasm brought about by his trauma. "My father was never what you would call Father-Of-The-Year." The clown started, his voice hollow. "He was a..dedicated man. Dedicated to all the wrong things. It was like the world handed him a set of guidelines for how to live his life. It was always his rules or there would be consequences. The rules.." The clown gave his head a little shake. Trying to hide the fear in his eyes. It was like he was that little kid all over again. "He was never happy; Never smiled. I just wanted him to laugh. To see him smile. But the only time he did was when he had a few drinks in him." His voice shook and became softer. "Sorry. I'm..mistaken."
Joker turned his gaze up and met her eyes, his full of raw emotion. "He use to love those clowns at the circus. The ones that came tumbling out of the car and used the seltzer cans." His eyes dropped to the table once more. His arms moved inside the jacket as he gave himself a hug. "I remember one day I waited for him to get home.. I had a surprise for him. One he was sure to get a kick out of."
"As it would turn out... I was the one that got the kick. Several of them. It seemed he didn't like to be made the fool." Teeth tugged at the inflamed flesh of his lips. "Nothing would quell her fury. Not my best clown outfit. Not my mother's pleas. Not even when he cracked the roof of my mouth."
"The next thing I remember is waking up to bright lights and antiseptics. I remember the doctor's disgust. The nurse's pity. I remember the social worker trying to take me away." His lips parted again to say something else but they closed once more and silence reigned. Joker idly licked his lips, lost in his "memory."
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Harley was so absorbed in his story that she did not breathe, even as her lungs began to ache. She hung on his every word, giving him every reaction: sadness, amusement, utter horror. The past that had been thrust upon him was demented, twisted even. How could this man be blamed for what he had done? All he had wanted was to make his father smile.
Sucking in a sharp breath, she turned her blue eyes down to the blank notepad on the table. No notes were needed for this. She would remember his every word and when she presented her findings to Dr. Arkham and the rest of the staff, they would truly understand the Joker. They just had to.
The door squeaked open and she jumped at the inhuman sound. One of the guards, surprised that the young doctor still had a throat, simply jerked his head towards the hallway. "Time's up, Dr. Quinzel."
"Oh, yes. Of course." She stood briskly and grabbed her notepad, pencil long forgotten. "Thank you, Joker," she added with a kind smile. "We will continue this discussion next time."
Harley strutted passed the guards into the hall and turned sharply to face them both. "I trust you will take excellent care of our patient, men. If I find you have abused him again, I will have both of you suspended from duty." The threatening tone in her voice broke the sickeningly sweet demeanor she often exuded with the staff. Both guards stared, completely taken back, and simply nodded as the good doctor bounced away.