Motley
Dogs
Motley doesn’t like dogs. He doesn’t like them at all. When he was three he was attacked by a Rottweiler who left the scars on the back of his legs. Ever since then, he’s been terrified of dogs. That’s why he’s cowering behind Joker, hands gripping his pants, face hidden against his hip. Joker unthinkingly puts a hand on Motley’s head, offering comfort.
He’s just gotten new guard dogs, three pitbulls. They’re vicious and snarling, straining against chains that don’t look strong enough to Motley. That’s why he screamed and ran to J when the dogs appeared. “Don’t be such a pussy, Motley,” Joker snaps suddenly, pushing him away. Motley whines and scurries back to him, hands grasping at the air.
One of the dogs bark and he screams. Some of the Joker’s thugs wince. The Joker picks Motley up by the arm and tosses him from the room. The kid lands in a crumpled heap on the ground. His ankle is bleeding again, stitches reopened when he ran for J. He can still hear the dogs, and he flinches whenever one of them makes a noise.
His wrist hurts from when J grabbed him, but only a little. Motley’s ashamed of himself for screaming, and he curls into a ball, hitting his head against his knees. “Bad bad bad bad bad,” he says over and over.
Eventually the Joker comes out and finds him. The kid is sobbing into his knees, forehead raw from hitting it so many times. Joker might, in his twisted heart, feel a little pity. He bends and picks Motley up. “Hey, kiddo. The, ha, the dogs can’t hurt you.”
Motley presses his damp face into Joker’s shoulder and doesn’t speak. He’s shivering. “How about we, haha, go get a snack and then I’ll, hoo, teach you a bit more about knives?” Joker asks carefully.
There’s a pause, but Motley nods finally, saying, “Kay,” in a small voice. The Joker chuckles and heads for the kitchen.
+
Motley is sitting on the kitchen counter. It’s still sticky from his adventures here just a few hours ago. He sniffs and rubs his sleeve across his nose, leaving snot and jelly smeared on his face. “Hungry.” Joker throws open the fridge and rummages around. He comes up with some really old ice cream. Good enough.
“You like ice cream?” The kid nods and smiles a little. Joker wonders, for the first time, if the kid has any allergies. He figures he’ll find out if the kid ever turns purple or swells up or whatever it is kids do. “Sit at the table if you want any.” Motley pushes himself off the counter, careful to keep Harley’s blanket around his shoulders.
The bottom of one of his pant legs is splotched red. Joker sighs. “You reopened the stitches, dumbass.”
Motley shrugs and digs into the ice cream, grimacing slightly at the cold. He hasn’t had ice cream in a really, really long time, though, so he’s happy. He grins across the table at Joker. “Thanks, J!”
“Eh. Shut up and eat your ice cream.”
He’s just gotten new guard dogs, three pitbulls. They’re vicious and snarling, straining against chains that don’t look strong enough to Motley. That’s why he screamed and ran to J when the dogs appeared. “Don’t be such a pussy, Motley,” Joker snaps suddenly, pushing him away. Motley whines and scurries back to him, hands grasping at the air.
One of the dogs bark and he screams. Some of the Joker’s thugs wince. The Joker picks Motley up by the arm and tosses him from the room. The kid lands in a crumpled heap on the ground. His ankle is bleeding again, stitches reopened when he ran for J. He can still hear the dogs, and he flinches whenever one of them makes a noise.
His wrist hurts from when J grabbed him, but only a little. Motley’s ashamed of himself for screaming, and he curls into a ball, hitting his head against his knees. “Bad bad bad bad bad,” he says over and over.
Eventually the Joker comes out and finds him. The kid is sobbing into his knees, forehead raw from hitting it so many times. Joker might, in his twisted heart, feel a little pity. He bends and picks Motley up. “Hey, kiddo. The, ha, the dogs can’t hurt you.”
Motley presses his damp face into Joker’s shoulder and doesn’t speak. He’s shivering. “How about we, haha, go get a snack and then I’ll, hoo, teach you a bit more about knives?” Joker asks carefully.
There’s a pause, but Motley nods finally, saying, “Kay,” in a small voice. The Joker chuckles and heads for the kitchen.
+
Motley is sitting on the kitchen counter. It’s still sticky from his adventures here just a few hours ago. He sniffs and rubs his sleeve across his nose, leaving snot and jelly smeared on his face. “Hungry.” Joker throws open the fridge and rummages around. He comes up with some really old ice cream. Good enough.
“You like ice cream?” The kid nods and smiles a little. Joker wonders, for the first time, if the kid has any allergies. He figures he’ll find out if the kid ever turns purple or swells up or whatever it is kids do. “Sit at the table if you want any.” Motley pushes himself off the counter, careful to keep Harley’s blanket around his shoulders.
The bottom of one of his pant legs is splotched red. Joker sighs. “You reopened the stitches, dumbass.”
Motley shrugs and digs into the ice cream, grimacing slightly at the cold. He hasn’t had ice cream in a really, really long time, though, so he’s happy. He grins across the table at Joker. “Thanks, J!”
“Eh. Shut up and eat your ice cream.”