Welcome Home? [Open to Joker?]

[Dick Grayson]

It had concerned me how I had heard nothing from Bruce over the past few weeks. Of course I’d been watching everything on the television, the hell that was going down in Gotham City, the place that I was born, the place that I grew up. I thought maybe, just maybe, someone would call me, maybe Robin or Oracle at least, but I had no word from them and so I had come to Gotham instead.

I had managed to talk to Oracle of course, once I had entered the city. I had recieved the placement of certain criminals around the area but no information about the whereabouts of my family. Bruce, Tim, Alfred. They were my family and for some reason they weren’t around. Where were the JLA at least? I thought Superman might have been concerned about what was happening but no word from him either. At least I had Oracle, otherwise I’d be feeling extremely alone right now.

"Hey Alf." I yelled as I let myself into Wayne Manor cautiously, I wouldn't put it past Bruce to set up traps to stop intruders. All I can say is at least he hadn't changed the locks.

It was eerily quiet as I dumped my stuff down into an untidy pile on the floor. I wouldn't have come back to Gotham for just anything but when I'd seen the chaos on the news I knew I couldn't stay away, it would be wrong of me to leave my friends to deal with all this mayhem. Batman needed as much help as he could get now.

I strolled into the kitchen, picking up an apple, tossing it in the air a bit before taking a munch out of it. "Alfred?" I said inaudibly muffled, my mouth full of apple. Food manners, not my highest skill.

Well they must have been out because certainly no one was here. I went to pick up the phone on the wall when the Manor alarms started going off. It wasn't me that had set them off. It was outside, which meant someone was breaking in. I frowned, dropping my apple on the kitchen worktop. My Nightwing costume was in a bag down by the entrance hall door, I couldn’t go and change for fear of being seen down there. Not only that but who ever it was would be a bit suspicious that Nightwing had appeared so fast.

It seemed like I would have to play civilian. At least perhaps I could find away out without being noticed and then call the cops that someone had broken in. I quickly moved away from the kitchen, peeking down the hall way that led to the entrance hall. I began to move stealthily towards the back of the house, listening hard for any noise that might indicate where the break in was going to happen. I wasn’t too concerned for the house, what I was concerned about was the secret that lay below the grounds. The Batcave. If they discovered the Batcave then it would be the end to everything unless I could manage to shut the criminal up.

There was noise behind me, the sound of someone breaking in, extremely close to where I was. I turned around like a deer caught in the headlights… perhaps I had to distract who ever this was, if I could persuade them to have their focus on me, distract them from their surroundings, then they would never discover the cave below. Then again, they might shoot me. They could kill me. Yet how was this any different to when I was wearing the costume, I could be shot any night. The plan was to distract until I figured out the next course of action.

Well done Dick, never go into anything without doing your research first said the sarcastic tone in my head. I had no research, I knew nothing about who or what was breaking in and yet I was about to alert it to my presence. Absolute genius. There’s that sarcastic voice again. Perhaps I am mad.

“Hello, is anyone there?” I said loudly, there was no fear in my voice but I hoped I could play the naive arrogant rich boy that stupidly thinks he is invincible. All I knew was that someone was in this large back parlour room, which held the backdoor to the grounds for my escape. Yet instead I decided to call out to the criminal in my midst.

"Hello?" I said to a shadow. Maybe it was just Bruce messing around but then again, he wouldn't break in to his own house.

[The Joker]

“Money makes the world go around – the world go around, the world go around! Money makes the world go around; it makes the world go ‘round!”

An inconspicuous black van pulled up to a grove of evergreens to the tune of “Money makes the world go around” from Cabaret. They were near the great Wayne Estate, home to, none other than the Playboy Prince of Gotham himself, the lustrous and philanthropic Bruce Wayne. Of course by now it was probably home to a caved in roof, but by the looks of it, it seemed to have suffered a minimal amount of damage – but there was still some wear and tear. Funny how every other Wayne building was fortified with earthquake proof bases except his own home.

Once a notorious purple leather gloved hand turned the ignition key off from his van he immediately turned his ghastly white painted face to the back, and grinned.

“Chico, Harpo, Groucho, Gummo, and Zeppo – time to grab your sticks, smash up the piñata and see what shakes loose!” Each of the clown masked henchmen immediately began vying for various instruments of destruction, large pieces of plywood with nails hammered at the end, baseball bats, and various assortments of knives and guns. The Ace of Knaves himself decided to equip himself with a classic AK-47 before bouncing off out of the car along with his henchmen shuffling off after him, taking careful precaution to check out the surrounding area to make sure they weren’t being watched or followed.

The Joker, on the other hand, didn’t care if anyone was following them; no one was going to get into his way in this particular looting business. He had been planning, plotting, and practicing this heist for quite some time now. Though initially it was created for own his personal interest to sabotage the prissy little pretty boy, it soon changed when he figured that Wayne had more than likely blew out of town immediately when he got wind of the earthquake, his main focus now diverted to the obvious prize – money.

It’s become quite evident as most Gothamites have come to learn, that the Joker doesn’t really care too much for money. This is certainly very, very true – to some extent of course. Unless you’re a costumed villain yourself, no one would ever truly understand the tiny little quirks, nuts and bolts that go into completing the whole “bad-guy” look. Many people believe that they simply make their own clothes, find their own hide outs and build their own props. Of course this is all very possible, back in the old days where things simply weren’t as well connected and everything was very, very new – he indeed did have to make his own props, clothes, and hideouts – and that’s why some of the times he’d end up having gags that would involve him squirting giant paint tubes at someone’s house. Definitely not one of his better plans. But now that villains have become a growing phenomenon, with vast amounts of over flowing Swiss bank accounts, a group looking out for their own interests and have increased specialized capacity for their craft have decided to join a rank of what his kind would call, “The Fix It Team”. Don’t have a villainous hide out yet after breaking out of Arkham? Call ‘The Retailer’ – he’ll be sure to find you a room ASAP, with all accommodations accounted for. Need a new costume? Or perhaps want to upgrade your new suit with something with Kevlar in it? Call ‘Miss Scraps’, in less than an hour your skin tight leotard will be fully equipped to take on any bullets thrown at you. It was a booming underground business, and The Joker’s wardrobe was in dire need of some serious clothing that wasn’t stitched together with Harley’s less-than-fabulous needle work. And more importantly, Miss Scraps wasn’t cheap. But why go to all the trouble of going through the motions of menial labor when he could simply just take what he wanted? Because she was simply too darn good a crafts woman on clothes that everything she made for him made him feel absolutely divine. He couldn’t, and wouldn’t ever want to lose her has his own personal tailor, she knew his measurements, his tastes and his style that it would be a shame to the whole villainous community to rid the world of such a fine tailor. Besides who else would make his clothes? Harley? She could barely make herself a grill cheese sandwich!

In any case, as the clown troupe began to walk around the bend towards the back entry way, a very classy move – every thief always entered from the back. Immediately, and with little difficulty, The Joker was able to climb and jump over the fence with little hassle. Some people were somewhat shocked that his trench coat ever rarely got snagged onto a fence, and his response to that was always, “Practice makes perfect”.

As he slowly crept up towards the back of the door, he heard the loud and clamorous sound of the alarm being tripped. Rolling his eyes he turned over to his henchmen, “Ya think that after being in the business for years you’d learn to NOT to trip silent alarms!” He huffed, “I’m working with a bunch of amateurs!” He threw his hands up into the air and kicked the door open stomping inside the room, no use for stealth anymore. There was plush furniture and beautiful paintings and fine cream colored walls surrounding him now, but he didn’t care – he was on a heated roll at the moment. “Look at you bums! Worthless pieces of fodder! How much do I pay you?” He glared at them, his question lingering in the air. He looked in the direction of Chico, “How much?!” Behind the mask you should tell Chico was sweating and shaking like a sick calf, “Uh, -um, ya-ya don’t pay us no-nothin’.”

“YOU’RE DAMN RIGHT I DON’T!” He yelled out at him with such shocking ferocity that Chico nearly fell over in fear. “And you guys deserve every penny of nothingness I give you! Why I should-“

A noise came from outside the hallway. Immediately The Joker raised a brow, and turned out from the parlor and down the gapping hall. Forgetting about his henchmen he slowly began walking towards the direction of the noise. He stopped again, and this time he heard a distinct “Hello?” calling out from the other end. Without another word, each man grabbed their prospective weapons and armed themselves for whoever (or whatever) was coming down the hall. The Joker stood in front of his troop, his right hand to his side, and his other holding the AK-47 within his grip – waiting patiently. Within a few minutes a young handsome man came bounding out in front of them, taking a moment to recognize the face, he immediately recalled this being Wayne’s adopted son, Dick Grayson.

There was a moment of silence as clubs were raised and guns clicked into shooting position, the two of them stared at each other for a long few minutes before the Joker shifted his eyes to the side and coughed into his hand, “Well this is a little awkward.”

Another moment of silence before it was completely crushed under The Joker’s pivotal and loud command of “Come and get ‘im boys!”

Harpo immediately jumped into action as he pulled a pistol from his pocket and began shooting it towards Grayson’s direction. But before could empty a complete barrel, the Joker immediately and viciously jumped on him with a shrill, “NO! YOU MORON!” He ripped the pistol from Harpo’s hand and with the flat and blunted end of his 47 he proceeded to bash it into the side of Harpo’s head. “Did – I – tell – you – to – KILL – him?!” He angrily breathed out between each fall and hit from his weapon. When blood began to gush out from behind the clown mask and drip in heavy flows around the floor, he pulled back his AK-47 and wiped the blood smears on Harpo’s jeans. “Can you believe this?” He looked around at his other henchmen, Harpo on the floor was now gagging and most likely spitting up teeth. The Joker then looked towards Dick, “He may look like an idiot and talk like an idiot but don’t let that fool you. He really is an idiot.” He looked down towards the cowed lump of flesh on the floor again and pointedly kicked him in the ribs, eliciting another gurgle from Harpo’s mouth followed by another generous helping of blood.

“I’m telling you Dickie my boy,” He began to walk towards Grayson, in smooth and slick steps. “No respect for proper authority.” He now stood in front of him, his frame towering over Grayson, “Let’s just forget this whole mess up and start again. I’ll give you a ten second head start, ‘kay?” He nodded his head, the smile on his face so genuine and childlike, it made the whole situation seem surreal.

“1…2…3…You might want to start running now…”

Note: Part of the post was definately inspired by this image:

[Dick Grayson]

The Joker. It was the Joker and it was glaringly obvious. His white dirty face gleaming through the darkened room, his red smile plastered against his face even when he was deadly serious. He made me feel sick, I felt this chilling feeling spike up my spine just at the sound of his voice and there was no need for me to hide any fear that I normally would on patrol. I was just Dick Grayson, the ward of the millionaire, I could cry like a baby if I wanted and it wouldn’t matter, not that I would though.

My body automatically went stiff as the Joker gave the order for them to get me, I wanted to move into a fighting stance and take them all down but I couldn’t, I had to act like a normal civilian. Though as the bullets shot towards me I dropped quickly to the ground and as a second thought put my hands over my head to look more like an amateur. I’m sure I could be let off with a little gymnastics and quick reflexes, I had been a well known child acrobat. I looked at the Joker incredulously as he began to beat one of his henchmen. If that’s how he treated his allies, I’d hate to see how he was going to treat.

Man, this was bad. This was the guy that had killed Jason, shot Barbara and here he was in front of me. He was counting down, and I realised he must have said something while I’d been thinking. I slowly got up from the ground. Was he going to come after me once I ran? If he didn’t he would find the Batcave. If I stayed here, acted dumb, would he shoot me on the spot?

“I… uh… Wait wait, time out! Pause counting.” I said making a time out sign at him. Maybe if I played his game, played the childish card back, I’d get more on his wave length and he’d actually listen to me. “You know, can I just ask why you’re here? I might be able to save you some time uh… Mister Joker because my guardian has actually removed all the valuable items from the property while he’s on holiday. If anything, you should try his penthouse, he informed me that he didn’t expect anyone to break in there. I can take you there instead.” The penthouse was safe, all of Batman’s items were here below the manor for security reasons, not to mention my Nightwing costume was laying abandoned in a bag in the hall front entrance.

I shoved my hands in my jeans and shrugged. “You can carry on counting now if you want but that might just waste more time. I do have a meeting to get to later.” I told him, doing my best to act like a man acting brave who was secretly terrified. I was surprised I hadn’t thrown up on his purple painted shoes yet. What a disgusting man, or was he man at all? No, he was a monster, a heartless inhumane monster.

[The Joker]

“…7…8…Better stay up late.”

He looked at the stunned and frankly idiotic child millionaire as he looked from his face to around the room to a blank stare as if recalling fond memories of childhood’s past. It was, quite frankly, annoyingly humorous. He should be running around all over the place like a chicken without a head, but instead, so stunned by his obvious awesomeness – he just couldn’t even bare to blink in proper intervals.

The Joker knew he was really “all-that-and-a-bag-of-potato-chips” but this was completely ruining his game mood as well as dampening his generous nature in giving him at least a ten second count. Lessoned learned: Never give people second chances because they’ll just walk ALL over you.

About to call it quits and not even grace him with the last two second of life before splattering his brains all over the marble furnishing, raising the AK-47 in his arm, he suddenly heard the boy speak.

Did he ask for a “time-out”? What was this grade school? Are we all in the background parking lot playing freeze tag and eating lemonade popsicles that Dickie’s dead parents made before they went splat all over the circus ring? But, the Joker was a curious cat – and this type of reaction was much more entertaining than sitting at home watching television or sitting in his Arkham padded ell suite spacing out on all the different medications they give him.

He let his arm go limp to his side again. Fine, he’d listen. He cocked an eyebrow high on his face as he lips curled down in a contemplative frown.

Once he had let the boy speak his piece he didn’t move a muscle and continued to stand there, letting the contents of the words and sentences and other miscellaneous ideas roll around in his working brain. Processing. Something just didn’t sit well with him at that moment. For a bratty little rich boy – he sure seemed oddly confident and sure of himself in front of the Clown Prince himself. Too calm and reassured. Ballsy, he’ll give him that, but stupid. Perhaps paying all those tutors and instructors billions of dollars to tell him he was better than everyone else finally did settle into his brain.

But the final words that poured out of the kid’s mouth like garbage was really the final straw that broke the cattle’s back. Exactly who did he think he was talking to? One of his “friends”? Oh no, no no no no no no no, here, especially here, at this particular moment in time, he wasn’t his friend, here, the Joker was king – was God.

As the Joker towered over Dick Grayson’s physique, he rudely pulled out his hand and grabbed his chin within his purple leathered grasp, pinching and coddling like if her were a child. “But Dickie, the party is just gettin’ started!” He chuckled under his breath, a most venomous sound. “You know it’s rude manners to make your guests leave so early. What’s the problem? Parent’s came home early? Did something you probably shouldn’t have been doing? Hiding something from me?” His acidic green eyes glimmered with intensity as he pushed Grayson’s chin out of his hand and pulling away from him; trotting his way back to the troupe of clown standing readily behind him.

“Probably should tell you Grayson my boy!” His clicked his automatic into gear. “Ten seconds is up.”