Part of the Plan.
Section Two.
The Joker knew he was insane, which, ironically, only proved his sanity more.
He'd often think his companion was just a figment of his own imagination. Perhaps along with being a psychopath, he was also a schizophrenic. He'd never know for sure unless he could prove or disprove her existence. But it all seemed a bunch of unnecessary trouble. So what if she didn't exist?
The odds were stacked in that favor. She only showed up when he was completely alone, she seemed to know exactly what he was thinking, and she disappeared faster than the Batman, it seemed.
Deep down, he feared that she was real. He always treated her as if she wasn't. Their first meeting was too cliche, he thought. There was no way she was real.
It all began in that same building, on a similar night, before he was too involved in playing with the underworld. He stood, just as he had this night, and watched. Suddenly, from behind him, a voice spoke.
"Sometimes all a city needs to have some fun is a little insanity."
He turned to see a woman sitting upon a stack of boxes. She had messy, brown hair, deep chocolate eyes, and a soft face, not too beautiful, but certainly not too bad to look at.
"And who, might I ask, are you?" he questioned, taking a few steps closer to this uninvited guest.
A sinister smile spread across the woman's face.
"My identity is of no importance. All that matters is the madness."
Taking a few more steps forward, the Joker licked his lips.
"You know, I like your style, but I don't take too easily to being a pawn."
The woman leaned back and shrugged her shoulders.
"You might not," she began, "but he does," she finished, motioning her head behind the man dressed in purple.
The Joker turned his head in the direction she indicated, seeing nothing. A semi-confused expression donning his made-up features, he turned back to the woman, only finding she was gone.
At the time, he was confused and relieved at her sudden departure. His behavior quickly shifted to annoyed as her visits multiplied. He found it fairly rude.
When she first began making her appearances, he'd attempt to ignore her, figuring he'd better not embrace the company if she was only a figment of his imagination.
However, he could not ignore her for long. He'd be willing to admit that he respected her. He could tell she was a manipulator; he'd just have to be careful around her.
Eventually, he gave in and joined in on her conversations. She'd casually slip in comments that he wouldn't notice at first. Though, a few days later, he'd find himself saying the same comment, or reflecting on it in his alone time. A person with such talent and eloquence was dangerous. He was less than willing to admit she'd made an impact upon himself.
He found solace in the belief that she was just a manifestation of his subconscious opinions. Though, he still grew irritable when he was being played with like a toy. One day, he broke down.
"Why? Why do you do this?" he asked.
Playing innocent, she replied, "Why do I do what?"
He took a few violent steps towards her and stopped, towering abover her and wearing an intimidating expression. She, however, did not look moved.
"Don't play dumb; you know what I'm asking," he spoke dangerously.
She swallowed.
"How does it feel?" she asked.
He stepped closer.
"What?"
"Think about it. You know what I mean." She stared straight back into his eyes, proving she was not afraid.
Breathing heavily, the Joker closed his eyes and turned around, appearing to have had enough, but in actuality he was contemplating her response. How does it feel? What, to be manipulated? To not be in control?
Oh.
"Touche," he thought. He turned, about to speak to her once again. However, she was gone.
"Should've seen that coming," he mumbled.
He turned his head and smirked.
"Well, it doesn't feel great."
He'd often think his companion was just a figment of his own imagination. Perhaps along with being a psychopath, he was also a schizophrenic. He'd never know for sure unless he could prove or disprove her existence. But it all seemed a bunch of unnecessary trouble. So what if she didn't exist?
The odds were stacked in that favor. She only showed up when he was completely alone, she seemed to know exactly what he was thinking, and she disappeared faster than the Batman, it seemed.
Deep down, he feared that she was real. He always treated her as if she wasn't. Their first meeting was too cliche, he thought. There was no way she was real.
It all began in that same building, on a similar night, before he was too involved in playing with the underworld. He stood, just as he had this night, and watched. Suddenly, from behind him, a voice spoke.
"Sometimes all a city needs to have some fun is a little insanity."
He turned to see a woman sitting upon a stack of boxes. She had messy, brown hair, deep chocolate eyes, and a soft face, not too beautiful, but certainly not too bad to look at.
"And who, might I ask, are you?" he questioned, taking a few steps closer to this uninvited guest.
A sinister smile spread across the woman's face.
"My identity is of no importance. All that matters is the madness."
Taking a few more steps forward, the Joker licked his lips.
"You know, I like your style, but I don't take too easily to being a pawn."
The woman leaned back and shrugged her shoulders.
"You might not," she began, "but he does," she finished, motioning her head behind the man dressed in purple.
The Joker turned his head in the direction she indicated, seeing nothing. A semi-confused expression donning his made-up features, he turned back to the woman, only finding she was gone.
At the time, he was confused and relieved at her sudden departure. His behavior quickly shifted to annoyed as her visits multiplied. He found it fairly rude.
When she first began making her appearances, he'd attempt to ignore her, figuring he'd better not embrace the company if she was only a figment of his imagination.
However, he could not ignore her for long. He'd be willing to admit that he respected her. He could tell she was a manipulator; he'd just have to be careful around her.
Eventually, he gave in and joined in on her conversations. She'd casually slip in comments that he wouldn't notice at first. Though, a few days later, he'd find himself saying the same comment, or reflecting on it in his alone time. A person with such talent and eloquence was dangerous. He was less than willing to admit she'd made an impact upon himself.
He found solace in the belief that she was just a manifestation of his subconscious opinions. Though, he still grew irritable when he was being played with like a toy. One day, he broke down.
"Why? Why do you do this?" he asked.
Playing innocent, she replied, "Why do I do what?"
He took a few violent steps towards her and stopped, towering abover her and wearing an intimidating expression. She, however, did not look moved.
"Don't play dumb; you know what I'm asking," he spoke dangerously.
She swallowed.
"How does it feel?" she asked.
He stepped closer.
"What?"
"Think about it. You know what I mean." She stared straight back into his eyes, proving she was not afraid.
Breathing heavily, the Joker closed his eyes and turned around, appearing to have had enough, but in actuality he was contemplating her response. How does it feel? What, to be manipulated? To not be in control?
Oh.
"Touche," he thought. He turned, about to speak to her once again. However, she was gone.
"Should've seen that coming," he mumbled.
He turned his head and smirked.
"Well, it doesn't feel great."