Motley

When a tall, skinny blond kid creeps into Joker’s line of sight, he throws a knife without looking. It’s not a henchman, so he shouldn’t be here. The kid dodges it easily with a laugh that’s the exact match of Joker’s. “C’mon, J. It’s been ten years, is that any way to say hello?”
The voice is familiar, if a lot deeper. “Motley?”
“In the flesh.” Joker doesn’t bother pretending he’s not thrilled, smiling so wide it hurts. Motley’s back, healthy and still insane, if the blood splashed across his arms and chest is any indication.

“Hey, kid. You back, heh, for good, OR are you, ah, gonna run off with that goody-good Robin again?”
Motley laughs. “Nah. Hood and I parted ways, he’s told me he’ll try to avoid Gotham so we don’t, ah…clash.” Joker looks the kid up and down. He’s built the same as his father, tall and whip-thin and white as bone.
His hair is slicked back, his smile too wide and nasty, he’s scarred all over, and Joker thinks he’s perfect. As beautiful as his mother, but even more dangerous. The only thing Joker can find fault with is that he’s wearing black jeans, a white t-shirt, and boots. Where’s the style, the flashy suit? But Motley is back and ready to fuck up Gotham with him, so that’s enough.
“It’s, ha, good to see you, Mot.” He slings an arm around Motley’s shoulders. The kid’s got at least two inches on him. Okay. “We’ve got a lot of, haha, murdering to do.”
END