Motley
Filler
“Bored, J. I'm bored,” Motley whines, pushing his forehead against J's ribs.
Joker raises a fist, but Motley knows J won't hit him. He never has. Motley doesn't know that Joker still feels something like guilt over how he treated Harley. What he forced her to become. He won't acknowledge it even to himself.
“Fine, kid. I'm, ah, fuckin' getting up.” Motley rolls off the bed, putting his shoes on before he bounces up, grinning.
“Can we go blow something up today?”
“Nah. I'm gonna, ha, introduce you to a friend.”
The friend turns out to be a terrified, balding man.
“This, Motley, is what we call a rat. A squealer. Told on me to Batsy and, hoo, got some of my men sent to Blackgate. Not. Very. Nice.” J has his knife out, tracing it over the man's face. The man whimpers, trying to squirm away. “Motley, kid, I wanna see you kill him.”
Motley nods and steps up, staring the man in the eye. “Kay.”
He takes his knife out and draws it slowly across the man's throat, tongue between his teeth. The man shudders and goes still. J pats Motley on the shoulder approvingly.
“Nice job, kid. Very clean.” Motley flicks the man's blood off his fingers and grins.
“Thanks. I'm less bored now.”
“Me too. Let's eat.”
They rob a gas station of twenty bucks, a gallon of Coke, and sandwiches. The cashier is left tied up in the back, gibbering. Joker would've killed her, but he was hungry and Motley was yawning, so they went home. Motley stays close to J, but he's stopped trying to hold his hand. Motley's a big kid now.
“Can I have a gun?” Motley asks as they sneak down an alley between buildings. He's looking down, fiddling with the ties on his sweatshirt. His hands are still streaked with blood.
“Sure, Mot. You already know how to shoot. We, ha, we'll pick one out tomorrow.” Motley beams up at J. He's full and with J and there's blood on his hands. It's a good day.
Joker raises a fist, but Motley knows J won't hit him. He never has. Motley doesn't know that Joker still feels something like guilt over how he treated Harley. What he forced her to become. He won't acknowledge it even to himself.
“Fine, kid. I'm, ah, fuckin' getting up.” Motley rolls off the bed, putting his shoes on before he bounces up, grinning.
“Can we go blow something up today?”
“Nah. I'm gonna, ha, introduce you to a friend.”
The friend turns out to be a terrified, balding man.
“This, Motley, is what we call a rat. A squealer. Told on me to Batsy and, hoo, got some of my men sent to Blackgate. Not. Very. Nice.” J has his knife out, tracing it over the man's face. The man whimpers, trying to squirm away. “Motley, kid, I wanna see you kill him.”
Motley nods and steps up, staring the man in the eye. “Kay.”
He takes his knife out and draws it slowly across the man's throat, tongue between his teeth. The man shudders and goes still. J pats Motley on the shoulder approvingly.
“Nice job, kid. Very clean.” Motley flicks the man's blood off his fingers and grins.
“Thanks. I'm less bored now.”
“Me too. Let's eat.”
They rob a gas station of twenty bucks, a gallon of Coke, and sandwiches. The cashier is left tied up in the back, gibbering. Joker would've killed her, but he was hungry and Motley was yawning, so they went home. Motley stays close to J, but he's stopped trying to hold his hand. Motley's a big kid now.
“Can I have a gun?” Motley asks as they sneak down an alley between buildings. He's looking down, fiddling with the ties on his sweatshirt. His hands are still streaked with blood.
“Sure, Mot. You already know how to shoot. We, ha, we'll pick one out tomorrow.” Motley beams up at J. He's full and with J and there's blood on his hands. It's a good day.