Drenched in Blood

The Joker threw a bucket of ice-water, directly on to French’s face and chest. She shot straight up, she gasped for air, surprised at the extreme cold. The Joker laughed, excitedly, “Good Morning, Beautiful, how was your, ah, nap.”

French glared at him, “I thought you were going to let us leave.”

“Let you leave?” his voice squeaked as if this was impossible, he shook his head laughing, “Why would I ever do anything like that, I would never just let my property, ah leave?”

He looked at her as if she was completely ridiculous, French shook her head angrily, “I thought you never lied,” she spat, glaring at him, “You said that we could leave but we could never come back.”

The Joker giggled, “I just changed my mind.”

“Where’s Chaos?” she demanded, “I’m taking her and we’re leaving.”

The Joker, as if he was angry slammed her against the wall, her head bounced against it sending a pain through her already hurting head, “You do not tell me what to do, I own you. I tell you what to do, you are my, ah, property.”

French kicked her foot out, it contacted his lower region, making his knees buckle and he let out a gasp, “Fucker,” she hissed.

He kept a hold of her as he leaned over in pain, the pain made him laugh like a madman, “Oh, you, you shouldn’t have done that, Biscuit,” he grabbed her by the head, gripping her by her hair and slammed her face against the wall, “And, I thought I told you to stay away from Ice-dick, hmm?”

She could taste blood in her mouth, she spat, trying to get rid of it, it landed on his gloves, and he looked at it in amusement, “Fuck you.”

“Ooh, you spit on me,” he laughed, cutting off her air-supply. She tried to scratch at his hands, kind of cutting into his hands with her nails, “Now behave, Biscuit,” he purred.

“Just tase me and get it over with,” French mumbled, going completely still.

“Oh, but where is the fun in that?”

French rolled her eyes and looked at him, “I miss getting scars,” she tried to make her voice sound slightly seductive.

He ignored the tingling of lust he felt, “Biscuit, do not, ah, try that with me,” he stroked her face with the blunt side of his knife, “Unlike you, I don’t find you, ah, irresistible.”

“Really?” she purred, moving her hands to touch his tie, lightly.

The Joker licked his lips, anxiously, “Don’t test me right now, Biscuit,” he loosened his grip around her neck.

She bent forward, pressing her lips to his collar-bone, “Why not?”

He pushed her back, the back of her head slammed against it, “No.”

“Oh, come on,” she reached for the top button on his shirt and popped it open, exposing the top of his chest.

When she went to bend down and kiss him again, the Joker pulled away, “Stop it,” he growled, then as if second-guessing his self, he shoved her against the wall, roughly and crashed his lips against hers.

She gave into his hungry-kiss and started to kiss him back. His hands roamed over her body, then he shoved her away, “Wha-,“ French started to ask.

He turned at the door and looked at her, “You’re going to have to stay away from Chaos for a while,” Joker told her.

French looked at him, perplexed, “What do you mean?”

“She just doesn’t need to be around you for a while,” the Joker told her.

Then he shut the door behind him as he left the door. French started to cuss about him under her breath, and then she realized with amazement, he didn’t do anything to her, for once, she didn’t have any bruises or cuts. She peeled off her clothes, went to the closet, she put on her pajamas and left the room. When she got in the hallway, she saw that all of the doors across the hall had thick -padlocks on them, there were six doors altogether. Three of their padlocks weren’t locked. She opened one of the doors, a dead man lay in the middle of the floor, his throat was slit and he had Joker-scars going across his face. Dried blood stained the carpet around him. In the next room, there was a similar scene.

French pressed her ear against the doors that were padlocked, she could hear scuffling around and crazy giggles. What’s the Joker doing now? she wondered. She padded down the hallway to try to find Chaos. In the distance, she could hear the Joker and Two-face talking.

“We’re getting closer, Joker, don’t worry about it,” Two-face was saying.

The Joker ignored him and kept on stirring compounds and mixes, “Leave me alone,” he growled, “I need complete, ah, silence.”

Two-face rolled his eyes angrily and walked out of the room, almost trampling French, “Oh, sorry, there.”

“It’s fine,” she replied, annoyed, “Sounds like you two are getting close,” she giggled.

“Yeah, we thought it was working for a while but then, they all just go back to normal it gets increasingly longer each time.”

French nodded, “Is that why you have the crazies here?”

“The Joker thinks it’s best we see a radical change instead of a- I don’t think I should be telling you this,” he shook his head, “sorry.”

“Yeah, so why does he need you?”

Two-face snorted, “I don’t know.”

“He’s probably trying to make you like him, he does need an heir,” French laughed, mockingly.

“I think I need to go now,” he walked away from her; she could tell he didn’t appreciate her teasing.

French opened the door to the Joker’s office, “Two-face left,” she told him.

“And that’s important to me, why?” the Joker asked, annoyed.

“I just thought, you would like some…help,” she strutted towards him.

The Joker rolled his eyes, “Do you know anything about Chemistry?”

French pressed her hands to his shoulders and with her lips only centimeters from his, he could feel her hot breath, “No, but I know a lot about…ah, Biology.”

The Joker pushed her away, “What is your problem, hmm?” he licked his lips, annoyed.

“Nothing, I just wanted to help you,” she pushed him against the back of his chair and reached for her shirt and pulled it over her head, “Come on,” she hadn’t been wearing a bra.

The Joker stared at her, slightly shocked then as if finding his voice, “Biscuit, I need you to, ah, put your shirt back on and go,” he sounded bone-deep tired.

“I’ll make you feel better though,” she insisted, setting in front of him on his table, “You look very tired.”

“That would just, ah, tire me even more,” he stood up in front of her, reaching behind her for her shirt, “Now, put this back on.”

“Put it back on?” she laughed, “No.”

Angrily, he slapped her, “Put the shirt on, now, now go.”

“Where’s Chaos?”

“Go,” he barked, anger filling his eyes.

French stood up and put her shirt back on, “Fuck you,” she stomped out the door and slammed it shut behind her.