Give Me a Smile

He kept giggling as he led me through the streets, hand warm in mine. “As...ha!...as strange as I am! As strange as me!” Every so often he would stop and pull me into an alley, hold my face in his hands. “Give me a smile, Quinn!”

I would smile and he would laugh, kiss the scar along my nose. “Joker, where are we going?” He looked back at me and grinned, squeezing my hand tight. “A new place. A BIG one! I, ha, I think you’ll like it. Lots of company.” “Huh?” He wouldn’t go on.
When we finally reached our destination he stopped suddenly, making me stumble and fall. He slapped me lightly on the back of my head, but I didn’t mind. “Welcome home, Quinn,” he said, leading me inside.
The place was a warehouse, stacked to the ceiling with boxes. His men were moving around, chatting lightly and holding boxes. I figured Joker didn’t mind them seeing me anymore, now that I’d officially joined him. He let loose that infamous cackle and they all stopped in their tracks, looking around nervously until they spotted him.
“Uh, hey, boss,” one of them said. He was a burly guy with scars all over his bald head. His eyes flicked to my own scars, and his lips went white. “Hi, Frowny. You, ah, get everything ready?” Joker asked. Frowny nodded and backed away. I smiled, enjoying the feel of power. With Joker, everyone was scared of me even thugs like these men. “C’mon, Quinn. I have a few things to organize,” he said.

Joker was living upstairs, in a room that had probably once been an office. It held a bed, a TV, food, and a spinny chair I figured had been left behind. He’d replaced the suitcase that Batman had stolen. I still didn’t know what it held. Joker settled himself into the chair and watched me, eyes glittering.
“Feel like home?” he said softly, smirking. “Yeah.” I sighed happily, going to sit on the bed. He rolled over to me and plopped his legs across my lap. “You got thinner, Quinn.” I shrugged. His face hardened and he moved closer to me. I leaned away, wondering why he was angry, but it wasn’t at me this time.
“Now, Quinnie, I wanna talk about Clayface,” he hissed, gripping my hand. His other hand held a knife, spinning it through his fingers. “Uh...okay.” “You said Clayface was, ah, a little tattle tale, that he gave away where we were staying.” I nodded. “Clayface is gonna pay, Quinnie. Where, haha, where is he now?”
“The police station, I think. Or, uh, or Arkham Asylum.” I stuttered. He was running his knife along the scarred bumps of my skin, smiling to himself. “I’ll have to, hoo!, pay him a visit,” Joker whispered. “Yeah.”

I felt the new madness inside me, the one that had made me kill Tom. I wanted Clayface to be hurt for what he’d done to me, to Joker. Joker patted my head when I yawned. “Go to sleep.” I curled up on the bed feeling content and fell asleep quickly.
When I woke up he was gone. I got out of bed and padded over to the fridge, hoping for leftovers. There were some cold slices of pizza, so I had those for breakfast. I went to the bathroom and found an unopened toothbrush, brushed my teeth, and went downstairs to the warehouse.
There were a few guys down there. They looked busier than the day before, barking orders at each other as they worked. “Hurry up, man! The boss isn’t gonna be happy if we’re not set up by the time he’s back!” “Put them over there, I’ll get them later.” I stepped into view and they stopped for a second, staring at me before they continued.
I wondered what they thought of me. They seemed scared, probably because of my scars and rumors. After all, I was the girl who had survived months with the Joker, so something had to be wrong with me. I felt normal, but maybe they were right. I pushed that thought away and watched as they set up a large clear tank in the middle of the room, then closed off the top. I had no idea what it was. I found out quickly.
Joker burst through the door carrying a fishbowl filled with grey liquid. It kept sloshing back and forth, making muffled noise. It was Clayface. Joker strode over to the tank, opened a door in the top, and jumped in, letting the fishbowl smash into pieces. Clayface immediately formed into his monster size, taking a swing at Joker.
Joker danced away from his fist and laughed, passing his knife from palm to palm. Clayface made another grab for him and dissolved into goop. He rumbled something too low for me to hear that made Joker laugh. “C’mon, Clay. You didn’t really think that I would go up against you in a fair fight.” He knelt next to Clayface and pushed a knife into them, making him howl weirdly.

“I asked my old pal Scarecrow for a recipe that’ll just make you melt,” he snickered. He stood and pressed his face against the glass, smudging it with crooked fingers. “Leave me. I have private business,” he said to us, motioning out of the room. I left with the men, absently noting that they were careful not to touch me. Clayface’s screams echoed around the warehouse the whole night.
At about five in the morning, Joker came back upstairs, laughing to himself. He was covered in what looked like muddy blood, and his hands were filthy. “Did you kill him?” I asked. “Nah. Can’t kill a guy as useful as that. Just, ha, I just wanted to make sure he knows the price of betrayal,” he said, stripping off the muddy clothes. “I’m takin’ a shower. Wanna join?” he asked, winking at me. I grinned and followed him.
Joker kept Clayface in that tank for a few days. He didn’t hurt him again, he just kept him there. Eventually, Scarecrow’s chemicals drained from Clayface’s system and he reformed. He would take the shape of whoever was closest to him at the time, probably to unsettle people. It worked.
Whenever I walked by he would morph into me and leer horribly. I think he made my scars worse than they really are. He didn’t dare try that with Joker. I saw the way he shrunk back when Joker came up to the tank. It was funny.
I came in one night and Clayface was gone, as was the tank. I looked to Joker, who said, “I let him go this morning.” He clapped his hands together and turned to his men. “Alright, you know what has to be done!” They scurried off in every direction, leaving me alone with the Joker. “What’s going on?” I asked.
“Robbing a bank,” he said casually, strolling over to examine an unopened box. “Oh, and people are searching for you again.” I shrugged, feeling strangely unworried. It had happened before. I was probably still considered innocent, so if they caught me, I wouldn’t be jailed. I didn’t want to be taken away from Joker again, though. He pulled a gun out from the box and came back to me, turning it over in his hands.
“Don’t worry. I’ll find you,” he said. Then he lifted the gun and pointed it at me, squinting down the barrel. I froze. “Y’know, usually I prefer knives, but, ha, guns are nice too. Don’t take as long. Kills more people at once. But knives...” He dropped the gun with a clatter and I flinched. “Well, knives make a statement. They, haha, they really let you get close. Personal. No on forgets a knife.” He slipped up behind me and held the blade to my throat.

I swallowed, feeling the cold metal press into my skin. “They’re fast. Easy to hide. Leave such pretty marks, too.” He cut a line down my cheek and licked blood away, grinning. “You look so beautiful, Quinnie.” I relaxed and smiled as he rubbed his thumb along my tattoo.