Post by jokersbackintown on Sept 10, 2012 20:39:23 GMT -5
The witching hour. Midnight. Gotham was resting as the early hours of the morn danced through the alarm clocks of its inhabitants. Those that were still awake were taking themselves away to bed, ready to curl up with loved ones. The dogs and the cats of the streets settled down for the night and the homeless looked for a warm place to slumber. A lone figure stood in the night sky. Watching. Waiting. With purple suit and white gloves, he stands, silently.
The Joker perched himself on the ledge of the rooftop. His feet clacked against the brickwork the supported him. The two levelled building had dark shadows leaping it across it, projected by the moonlight. Beside him was his 'bag of tricks'. A large black doctor's valise adorned with a yellow smiley face across the front. The handle of a loaded revolver rested on one of the bag's opened rims. Back in the comfort of his regular attire, the Clown Prince reached into his jacket pocket for a pack of smokes. After acquiring a cigarette, The Joker reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a short, stubby cigarette holder. A 'gift' he'd 'acquired from Penguin. Placing it between his cracked crimson grin, he drew a golden lighter and produced a flame. Letting the nicotine fill his lungs and airways, The Joker replaced the lighter. Shifting his weight to the right side of his body, he rested is elbow on his kneecap and placed the other in his lap.
Tonight was the start of his big plan. His final endeavour in bringing down The Caped Crusader. Not through some grand scheme involving a seemingly inescapable deathtrap that is somehow inevitably flawed. Or through a fistfight perched upon a construction sites top level. None of that. Batman would come crashing down in a shadow of bitter glory after finally silencing his mortal enemy. Batman would kill The Joker. The Clown Prince would sacrifice his own life if it meant he would be bringing down The Dark Knight with him. It was a strange feeling for Joker to know that his death was soon to be at hand. Not a feeling of anger or joy, glee or hatred. Just a feeling of acceptance. Knowing what he was doing. Understanding why he had to do this. He took a long deep breath and puffed on the cigarette.
Footsteps behind him signalled the arrival of another. Joker didn't bother to turn to see who it was. Pulling the cigarette from his lips, he inspected. Bringing himself to his feet, The Joker bent to collect the revolver from the valise. Checking the bullet chambers, he pressed the ammunition back into its corresponding components, walking towards the third level of the apartment building. With his collar undone and hanging loosely around his neck, the cold air brushed against The Joker's chest. Pressing himself against the corner of the structure, Joker saw a shadow tottering out of the dark. Raising the revolver to eye level, Joker found his target and fired a single bullet, directly in front of the silhouette. The figure stopped dead. The Joker rose leaning against the corner of the brickwork and stepped into the light. Tilting his head back slightly, The Joker took another puff from the cigarette and created a small cloud of smoke. He spoke to the shadow, suspiciously.
"Evenin'."
The Joker perched himself on the ledge of the rooftop. His feet clacked against the brickwork the supported him. The two levelled building had dark shadows leaping it across it, projected by the moonlight. Beside him was his 'bag of tricks'. A large black doctor's valise adorned with a yellow smiley face across the front. The handle of a loaded revolver rested on one of the bag's opened rims. Back in the comfort of his regular attire, the Clown Prince reached into his jacket pocket for a pack of smokes. After acquiring a cigarette, The Joker reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a short, stubby cigarette holder. A 'gift' he'd 'acquired from Penguin. Placing it between his cracked crimson grin, he drew a golden lighter and produced a flame. Letting the nicotine fill his lungs and airways, The Joker replaced the lighter. Shifting his weight to the right side of his body, he rested is elbow on his kneecap and placed the other in his lap.
Tonight was the start of his big plan. His final endeavour in bringing down The Caped Crusader. Not through some grand scheme involving a seemingly inescapable deathtrap that is somehow inevitably flawed. Or through a fistfight perched upon a construction sites top level. None of that. Batman would come crashing down in a shadow of bitter glory after finally silencing his mortal enemy. Batman would kill The Joker. The Clown Prince would sacrifice his own life if it meant he would be bringing down The Dark Knight with him. It was a strange feeling for Joker to know that his death was soon to be at hand. Not a feeling of anger or joy, glee or hatred. Just a feeling of acceptance. Knowing what he was doing. Understanding why he had to do this. He took a long deep breath and puffed on the cigarette.
Footsteps behind him signalled the arrival of another. Joker didn't bother to turn to see who it was. Pulling the cigarette from his lips, he inspected. Bringing himself to his feet, The Joker bent to collect the revolver from the valise. Checking the bullet chambers, he pressed the ammunition back into its corresponding components, walking towards the third level of the apartment building. With his collar undone and hanging loosely around his neck, the cold air brushed against The Joker's chest. Pressing himself against the corner of the structure, Joker saw a shadow tottering out of the dark. Raising the revolver to eye level, Joker found his target and fired a single bullet, directly in front of the silhouette. The figure stopped dead. The Joker rose leaning against the corner of the brickwork and stepped into the light. Tilting his head back slightly, The Joker took another puff from the cigarette and created a small cloud of smoke. He spoke to the shadow, suspiciously.
"Evenin'."
