But for some reason I think The Joker would probably quite enjoy Cal.
I think you and I share a brain, because I got out of bed to write this - longhand, even, because I didn't want to wait for the computer to get woken up, but I figured I'd throw it at you before I go back to bed, and also the hour of sleep I do not currently have is YOUR FAULT. That's my story and I'm sticking to it. It requires extensive tweaking, but for what it's worth:
Most of Cal Chandler, of course, sank into gibbering terror when he turned on the light to find the Joker in his room.
"Close the door," the Joker said. Cal did, and locked it too, because the last thing he wanted was for Deborah or Mother to come in looking for him.
The part of Cal that wasn't terrified, the cool and collected Politician who wasn't even supposed to be real, said,
"I didn't think I was important enough for the big boss to come deal with me personally."
"Sure you did," was the reply. The Joker gestured to a chair near the door. "Sit."
Cal did, his knees giving way a little too fast to do his dignity much good. But then, in this particular position, he'd probably do well not to be wetting himself before the Joker was through. He swallowed hard.
The Joker leaned forward in his own chair. "You think you're going to die. And there you are, sitting quietly. I appreciate that, I really do. I hate last-minute posturing. It's a waste of time."
The pause seemed to demand a response, so Cal nodded weakly.
"Well, I'm not going to kill you. No one's going to kill you. No one who works for me, no one who doesn't want me upset with them, and I think that pretty much covers everyone, don't you?"
Cal, who was long accustomed to having to talk while his mind raced to catch up with the latest twist in events, said, "Uh, yes, I think it does."
"I don't want any favors. I don't want you or any of your family in my pocket for later. I just want to watch."
He got up and crossed the room, stopping to stand just in front of Cal. He leaned down, hands on his knees, his face so close to Cal's that Cal could smell the thick white pancake makeup, could clearly see the bunched knotting of the scars under the red.
"I know you," the Joker said, voice low and crackling. "That press conference wasn't just a political gesture or a moment's noble grandstanding. You meant it. You want so much to be pure and good. You're sincere. You want it in a way that very few people could even begin to understand, and you'll never, ever have it. Everything that might have been decent's been stripped out of you, and here's the part that's saving your life: you'll never admit it. You'll try and try and you won't get there. It'll all fall apart around you, again and again. Maybe sometimes I'll give it a nudge, or maybe I'll just stand back and watch. It's fun to see a bad man try to be good." He smiled, suddenly, a disconcerting lipless crescent in the slash of red. "You remind me of a friend of mine."
He straightened up, smile disappearing. "Go downstairs. And don't quit your job, Cal. We all want to see what will happen to an honest politician."
. . . yes, so that's my take on why the Joker would enjoy Cal. And now BED. (This is one of those times where, if someone asked me why I write, I would say, "Fuck if I know.")
no subject
I think you and I share a brain, because I got out of bed to write this - longhand, even, because I didn't want to wait for the computer to get woken up, but I figured I'd throw it at you before I go back to bed, and also the hour of sleep I do not currently have is YOUR FAULT.
That's my story and I'm sticking to it.It requires extensive tweaking, but for what it's worth:Most of Cal Chandler, of course, sank into gibbering terror when he turned on the light to find the Joker in his room.
"Close the door," the Joker said. Cal did, and locked it too, because the last thing he wanted was for Deborah or Mother to come in looking for him.
The part of Cal that wasn't terrified, the cool and collected Politician who wasn't even supposed to be real, said,
"I didn't think I was important enough for the big boss to come deal with me personally."
"Sure you did," was the reply. The Joker gestured to a chair near the door. "Sit."
Cal did, his knees giving way a little too fast to do his dignity much good. But then, in this particular position, he'd probably do well not to be wetting himself before the Joker was through. He swallowed hard.
The Joker leaned forward in his own chair. "You think you're going to die. And there you are, sitting quietly. I appreciate that, I really do. I hate last-minute posturing. It's a waste of time."
The pause seemed to demand a response, so Cal nodded weakly.
"Well, I'm not going to kill you. No one's going to kill you. No one who works for me, no one who doesn't want me upset with them, and I think that pretty much covers everyone, don't you?"
Cal, who was long accustomed to having to talk while his mind raced to catch up with the latest twist in events, said, "Uh, yes, I think it does."
"I don't want any favors. I don't want you or any of your family in my pocket for later. I just want to watch."
He got up and crossed the room, stopping to stand just in front of Cal. He leaned down, hands on his knees, his face so close to Cal's that Cal could smell the thick white pancake makeup, could clearly see the bunched knotting of the scars under the red.
"I know you," the Joker said, voice low and crackling. "That press conference wasn't just a political gesture or a moment's noble grandstanding. You meant it. You want so much to be pure and good. You're sincere. You want it in a way that very few people could even begin to understand, and you'll never, ever have it. Everything that might have been decent's been stripped out of you, and here's the part that's saving your life: you'll never admit it. You'll try and try and you won't get there. It'll all fall apart around you, again and again. Maybe sometimes I'll give it a nudge, or maybe I'll just stand back and watch. It's fun to see a bad man try to be good." He smiled, suddenly, a disconcerting lipless crescent in the slash of red. "You remind me of a friend of mine."
He straightened up, smile disappearing. "Go downstairs. And don't quit your job, Cal. We all want to see what will happen to an honest politician."
. . . yes, so that's my take on why the Joker would enjoy Cal. And now BED. (This is one of those times where, if someone asked me why I write, I would say, "Fuck if I know.")