Kahi 2012/06/21 (Thu) 20:31 No. 45473 ▼ File 134031068079.jpg - (24.86KB, 240x480 , Evening Friend.jpg)
You take a quick moment to glance around the room.
Aside from you and Rebecca, the pair of clowns it seems you are, there are ten other people present. You already mentally noted the scarecrow, mister purple question mark, leaves, and the gator man. The rest are....
There's a pale man. Not as pale as your chalk white skin, but still notable. Not nearly so much, however, as the fact that he has no nose, lips, and you think he might be missing fingers.
You're kind of glad you didn't get pulled for that one, however the Queen decided these things. You can't help but suspect she pulled names out of hats.
There's a thin fellow, you're hard pressed to pick up any distinguishing features that are out of the ordinary until he moves his arm, and you catch sight of some scars. They look like... tally marks? Then his clothes shift, and they're hidden again.
There's a man who... all you can say for sure is that he's dressed as a green bug? Yellow features somewhat, but the wings on the suit are very much like some sort of insect.
Another man strikes you as very old, somehow, older even than he appears. But snappily dressed.
The next two are a pair of morbidly obese bald men. They seem to be sticking close together... did they enter as a team, one of them the guest of the other?
The next man is dressed in a concealing red outfit. Kind of like monk robes, maybe something like a raincoat?
Another is a woman with short hair, who bears some resemblance to the old, snappily dressed man, somehow.
The next man has long, wavy hair, and is dressed in such a way that it looks like he just walked off the stage of some shakesperean play, or out of a historical re-enactment. There's a thin sword belted at his side.
The last contestant is dressed in something like a spider-man body suit. You can't make out any real details beneath it, aside from the fact that it is skin tight and he is in very good shape.
External checks done, you look more inward, trying to figure out whether or not there's anyone extra inside your head this is stupid and you're stupid for trying to do this sort of thing.
Well.
Ruder than usual, but it doesn't look like there's anyone in your head that isn't supposed to b-he isn't supposed to be there either.
But no. You're alone, the two of you, in your own head. Which is a good thing. Probably.
Even so, you know things, now you've stopped to think of them. You know that you have more than one type of gun. Real ones, the ones that fire and extend a little flag with 'Bang' written on them... and the ones that do that but, if you fire again, launch the flag like a little spear. And the fun ones, that don't fire bullets, but easily breakable pellets of your special Laughing Gas.
Oh blech, that is a horrible invention, how did you even make that chemical in the first place? You can't remember. And more importantly, you didn't. Line blurring slightly. You remember, sort of, being... the Joker? Vaguely. Dimly. Not well. Just an impression, you guess, of what the man is like in the Source Material.
You remember that you have a hideout nearby. You recall that you have a dozen Henches there, you don't bother recalling their names ever, except for a trio that look similar enough to a comedy routine that you never learned their real names either, but habitually call them Larry, Curly, and Moe, and... stuff, it's foggy. You remember that it's Tuesday, and so the Henches are going to be on high alert, just in case you look a little more trigger-happy than usual. You remember that you have no idea which ones the guns you're carrying are.
You don't keep track of which is which. You keep them all in a pile, and grab two or three as needed. Half the fun is not knowing what, exactly, might happen if you pull the trigger.
You remember...
You remember the bat.
You remember the god damn bat, looming up out of nowhere, always there when you least need him, always ready to introduce his fist to your kidneys, always managing to figure everything out in time, always managing to escape the most perfect, most hilarious, death traps with insufferable ease, it's so, that bat, so infuriating!
... You have to take a slow, deep breath, to cool yourself down.
Alone in your head, sort of, but there's still been some kind of tampering. You hope that stays behind when you go.
But the voice in your head will probably be useful.
... You can not believe you just thought that, perfectly seriously, even if you didn't say it out loud. No, it doesn't matter. You remember.. remember.
You remember the sort of noises Harley makes when you're in a less casually murderous mood, and you-this is hardly relevant information.
You remember there's a joy-buzzer, one of your special ones, hidden up your sleeve, though. You hadn't even noticed that. You also remember that it's a killer of a jape, starts off with a blast and keeps getting more intense the longer you hold.
Unless someone's other fist comes up in the meantime and clocks you right in the schnozz. God Damned Bat.
You can't make anything else show up, no matter how you think.
Disguise. Car. There should be a fabulous Clownmobile, a limousine painted purple, at the Haha... No. No you aren't using that name, that's outright stupidly hammy. At the hideout. But you think it's a bit off. You'll have to either get there on foot, or pick one up on the way. Weed killer, in case leaves ends up being a problem. Lots of things you'll have to steal.
... You didn't think for a moment of buying them.
Could you buy them, even? You think you have a wallet. The wallet feels fat. Just walk up to a counter and casually pay for a loaf of bread, a dozen eggs, some cheese and milk, people trying to figure out whether or not they should already be screaming and running for the exit, that would be hilarious, ahahaha.....
You shake off the oddly powerful urge to laugh at the thought.
"You have anything on you? Aside from fetish gear, my dear?" You drawl, trying and failing to keep your voice casual and even.
"I think I might have one or two things, Mister J." Rebecca replies, then pauses to frown. "... How odd. I suppose it makes sense, given that your name is-"
"Might be better not to use it. Just in case we win, or in case someone ends up with a grudge to hold over anything that might go on." You say, forcing control over your voice again.
"Well, yes. Incognito, and all. A J, because..."
"Joker. You're... Harley something?" You say, uncertainly.
"... Quinn." She says after a moment, and smiles. "Ah. An amusing little pun, I see... and I'm your mistress?"
"I... something... like that, maybe?" You say, not entirely sure. Dim, floaty memories pass by your eyes. "... I think I've tried to kill you a few times? Maybe more than a few. And not... you, you, or me, but-"
"Yes, I think I had gathered that much... you're not terribly good at it. I think. Well, not in general it seems that you're somewhat fantastic at that, but in specific... I think you've regularly failed to kill people you specifically wanted dead?"
"That... might be." You say, finding that your teeth are suddenly grit at this failure being called to light.
Crocodile Man and the old guy have already left, the Obesity twins look like they're working out how to fit their unexpectedly ponderous bulk through a normal sized door....
"You might try grease you know, slippery yourselves right up." You say, before you can keep your tongue in check. "I think lard might work out, if it weren't that the problem is that you have too much? Hahahaha~"
There's a glower sent your way, but it might be that your face doesn't quite match up to your words and laughter because after a grunt of disgust, they go back to getting out.
You didn't mean to say that. Much. Well, you sort of did, and while it's a bit mean to poke at sore spots, it's hard to miss a target like that...
You close your eyes and patiently count to ten.
"... Are you going to be okay." You say, once you open them again. "I mean, with this. We'll probably have to... well, the game is theft, after all, so it's likely that we'll have to do unpleasant things."
"Oh, I shouldn't worry about that, Mister J." Rebecca replies cheerily. "Didn't he say that this was a 'simulated' city? It's not as though it was a real place, with real people, then. Why, I think it would be something very like a video game."
That... you guess that's true. Looking for that guy.. oh. He's gone. You don't know when he left, but now that you think, you haven't seen him since right after his speech-y explanation of things...
The Blubbertwins have managed to make their way out, so it's about time for you to go as well. There are, unfortunately, no cars sitting parked on the side of the road, either there never were, or swifter contestants have gotten there first.
No matter.
You step up to the curb, and expectantly raise a thumb as a taxi passes. The driver pretends not to have seen you, and not only does not slow down or stop, he picks up speed and barrels past at at least twenty miles per hour faster than he started down this road.
This is less than pleasing.
The next car, you step out in front of, without hesitation or thought, confident in the knowledge that of course this will work, why wouldn't it?
The car screeches to a halt, barely stopping before the fender touches your suit pants. The young man at the steering wheel is furious.
"What the hell do you think you're doing you... crazy..." He says, stepping out of the car, only to pause mid motion, speech slackening to a halt as he realizes several very important details about the situation. Wordless, he tries to rapidly get back into his seat and inside, only for Rebecca to put a careful hand on the back of his neck.
He freezes, eyes very much like those of a deer caught in the headlights of a semi truck barreling down the highway at significantly higher than the speed limit.
There's several ways this can go.
Remarkably, it seems like they're all easy. The only notable difference, in general, is how this angry young man comes out of things.
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[ ] What do you do?