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 Posted: Sun Sep 09, 2018 9:24 pm
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It's been almost one year since The Batman first began his crusade on the criminal underworld of Gotham City. Since then, crime rates have dropped lower than they have in decades. Mobsters are running terrified with their tales between their legs and criminals are thinking twice when they see his signal shining brightly in the night sky.
In an act of pure desperation, the Falcone Crime Family turned to a man they did not completely understand to help them rally against the Bat. The man was a nobody, a small time crook that had performed small time heists and ripped them off in the past. He painted his face white, and dyed his hair green. The man had no name, none other than the one he gave himself. The Joker.
The Joker did battle against the Batman, engaging in a sick game that left dozens dead and hundreds wounded. During their battle, the Batman, hot shot District Attorney Harvey Dent, and up and coming cop Lieutenant Gordon managed to put most of the Falcone Crime family behind bars; the Joker, however, continued to slip through their fingers... until now.
In one final rooftop struggle the Batman finally succeeded in taking down the murderous Jester, to whom the Gotham Gazette gave the title "The Clown Prince of Crime", who was then subsequently locked in Blackgate Penitentiary.
During the trial, the Joker was deemed criminally insane due to the actions of Arkham Director of Psychiatry Dr. Jonathan Crane where he was immediately transferred to the Intensive Treatment Center in Arkham Asylum, and placed under the direct supervision of Dr. Crane. |
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Posted: Sun Sep 09, 2018 9:27 pm
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Shoes clicked on the concrete floors of Arkham Asylum’s administrative building. Florescent bulbs flickered above. The young and ambitious Dr. Harleen Quinzel was tapping the toe of her patent leather pumps at the receptionist’s window. Her freshly prepared argument for her desire to psychoanalyze the patient of interest had been written, rewritten and edited. The others had all been rejected, but now her argument for her treatment plan was water-tight. It was held on the clipboard under her right arm while her left hand impatiently drummed at the receptionist's counter with her nails. She had agonized over this new argument the night before while her skirt hung over the radiator in her tatty apartment to steam out the wrinkles. She was ready.
She had made every effort to look the part of someone better than she really was. Her stockings were without runs, seams exceptionally straight. Her crisp white coat starched and ironed. Miss Quinzel had long been in the habit of trying to conceal her city accent and east side upbringing. It had been the source of much ridicule during med school. Her entire history was a desperate climb to be taken seriously, to be acknowledged for her talents and to finally achieve respect. After all, she worked her way through all her classes. It had been her that put in the long hours and the sleepless nights.
But she knew what many of her coworkers saw, a dumb city blonde who probably screwed her way to the top and had it all handed to her --thanks in part to a gymnastics scholarship. She shrugged off all the jokes about her flexibility and whether she’d “done the splits” to pass her finals. This was the time to prove everyone wrong. If only he’d give it to her.
She pulled a crumpled piece of paper from her pocket and looked at it. A note from the John Doe patient who’d provided only one alias: The Joker. Of course, it was against the rules to keep such a communication from a patient and not chart it. But somehow, he’d instantly made her feel important with his attentions. He made her feel smart when the other physicians had made her feel like a bimbo playing dress up. He could finally provide her with leverage to be taken seriously. He was her chance. She replaced the note in her coat pocket.
“Honestly, Virginia. I had a 4 o’clock with him and it’s darn near 4:30. Can’t you buzz him again? I been standin’ out here forever.” In her frustration, her old urban twang crept out.
“I told you, he’s busy.” The frumpy receptionist licked her finger and turned the page of her fashion magazine. She glanced up, caught Harleen’s glare and sighed.
“I’ll buzz him again. Sheesh.”
The young psychiatrist anxiously checked her breath with the palm of her hand and cleared her throat.
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Posted: Sun Sep 09, 2018 9:29 pm
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From a young age, Jonathan had a fascination with the mind. It held a firm dictatorship over the body, and it was not to be crossed. From Binet to Freud, each one of them had barely scratched the surface of the psyche. We understand so little about ourselves that to call humanity an intelligent species is an act of monstrous arrogance. In order to truly understand ourselves, you would have to start at the beginning - and what is the first emotion that humanity ever experienced? Fear. Without it, we'd have all been slaughtered by our predators in our early stages of evolution. It is the single greatest teacher that mankind has ever had, and always will have.
The rain was splashing heavily against the old-fashioned windows. Jonathan mimicked the downpour of the rain against the window by tapping his fingers on his antique mahogany desk. From the medical journals to his own personal notes, all where perfectly arranged and structured on his desk. A small table of the same wood behind him held a series of crystalline glass and a bottle of Dalmore 18 Year Scotch. The walls were of aged brick, with a collection of replicas of paintings done by Francisco Goya; such as Saturn Devouring His Son and Two Old Men. The scarce visitors that ever did pay entrance to Dr Crane's office would often comment on The Black Paintings by Goya. The Doctor himself sat on a wine leather swivel chair, with a stationary chair of the same material made available for those on the other side of the desk.
Crane was standing with a glass of scotch in his hand, looking out upon the dreary atmosphere that the evening would come to offer. Who is it weeping for? Against the reflection of the aged windows, his pursed lips curved into a smile as he was in deep thought. That was until the buzzer started ringing. It rang like an old-fashioned phone, and it was met by an unstartled Crane, who calmly put his glass down onto a coaster on the main desk, pushed a briefcase at the side of his desk closer into it and walked towards the door of his office. As the door opened, there he was. He wore a dark single-breasted three-piece suit. One look at Crane and you would understand that his style is simply bold and yet, crisply elegant and understated at the same time. You know that everything he wears is chosen with an eye for detail. He wore silver half-frame Mikli designer glasses which only conflicted with his personality - was he approachable or was he not? He was flirting with the cuffs of his shirt as he scanned the room before him to see his 4:00 PM. "Dr. Quinzel, apologies for keeping you waiting." His voice was cold and made a poor attempt to sound apologetic. "Please come in." He said as he held the large door behind him open. The light glinted off of a gold plate on the door that had the words "Dr. Jonathan Crane, Director of Psychiatry" etched onto it. |
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Posted: Sun Sep 09, 2018 9:30 pm
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Dr Quinzel straightened herself to attention as Crane’s door opened. She was taken aback by how elegant and poised he was. That was the kind of “classy-type” personality she needed to cultivate if she wanted to finally make a good impression. As she entered the office, she shrugged off the lateness of the hour.
“Good afternoon, Dr. Crane. It was hardly a wait at all, really.” The receptionist gazed at her over the tops of her spectacles and then rolled her eyes. She returned to her magazine as they closed the door behind them.
“I’m really hoping you’re amenable to a treatment suggestion I’ve had for a while now, speaking specifically for one patient. I keep running into refusals for my petitions to take over primary psychiatric care and attempt to psychoanalyze him, always based in concerns about…not giving sociopathic patients traditional therapy.”
Harleen took a seat in the chair across from Dr. Crane’s desk and checked to make sure her slip wasn’t visible. Did she look like she was trying too hard, she wondered. Breathe. Relax. He’s just some stuffed shirt, Harl. Take it easy. She may have told herself this, but the majestic old-world décor of his office laid bare the power imbalance at hand. She placed her clipboard in front of her and sifted through the pages of her proposal.
“And well, uh, I think this is a wasted opportunity to learn a lot about the one calling himself The Joker.” Dr. Quinzel took a case file out of her stack of papers and slid it forward on the director's desk for him to peruse himself. The paperwork had been typed out at a typewriter and stricken back over at each point the patient had changed his story about who he was. Addendums were added with each new episode of violent behavior he’d exhibited against the asylum’s staff. At the top left corner of the document was a black and white security camera still of The Joker smiling and waving into the camera.
“This is the patient in question. Just to be clear. I understand he has a violent streak, but I’m more than prepared to accept the risks here to provide him constructive and personalized treatment,” she leaned forward a little and nervously tapped her pen against her clipboard.
“And I guess I kinda figured you were the type of concerned professional who would also want to find out what would make a guy dress up like a clown and do what he does.”
The young doctor didn’t reveal how invalidated she’d felt by the constant refusals of the past few months, or how she felt they didn’t trust her abilities. She didn’t want to show that her ego was tied up in this patient. It would be sure to elicit yet another denial. She felt the sudden nervous urge to chew on her pen. She brought it up to her lips and then thought better of it, settling instead for clicking the pen.
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Posted: Sun Sep 09, 2018 9:30 pm
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Crane held the large door open as Dr Quinzel entered his office and took the available seat opposite his desk. As she continued her lengthy appeal, Jonathan refilled his crystalline glass with scotch and a glass for his guest. He placed ice cubes in both of their respective drinks using the tongs from the ice cube bucket and turned around to present his visitor with a drink. Just in time too, as she had just finished her proposal. He had figured that perhaps such a professional setting may have been overwhelming her into a mild state of anxiety. The tempered trepidation that she was emitting was amusing to Crane, though he wouldn't admit to it nor play on it. "Firstly, take a drink and relax." He said with that signature coldness in his voice. Sliding the glass across to her, he took a seat at his desk and brought his fingers to a steeple. He glanced down upon the case file that Harleen had presented him with. To even a layman, it was obvious that his time in facilities such as these had only been derogatory to his health - yet Crane was unfeeling towards this, and perhaps deep down even encouraged it. His lips were stretched to the maddening in-between of a smile and a frown, the picture of indifference. "I would imagine the same reason one would dress up like a doctor and do what they do." He poised in return to the finale of her proposal, for how could one show empathy for a monster if they could not see themselves. It was apparent that Harleen, like himself, had a knack for the crazies.
Crane's eyes were lifeless. What faustian deal had he made to lose his soul? "You will want to continue the facade you have crafted right now, best to not let our residents know you." He made in reference to the accent she was attempting to hide. Crane himself was from Georgia, and whilst he was lucky enough to not pick up on a southern accent, it was certainly a piece of his past he liked to pretend didn't exist - so he was no stranger to an off accent that was attempting to hide its origins. "Now onto the matter at hand." He ran his tongue across his lips in a serpentine manner as he continued, "You must be made aware that some of our staff here are utterly unwilling to deal with the patient in question - there certainly is a place here for you at Arkham." He said briefly, perhaps the double entendre flew over Harleen's head. "I can grant you the access to treating this patient right now if you so wish, but on the grounds that I am able to personally supervise it." Crane had no personal interactions with The Joker ever since he had persuaded and proofed the insanity plea on his behalf. He got up out of his chair and squirrely offered her his hand as his part of the agreement. |
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Posted: Sun Sep 09, 2018 9:31 pm
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She wasn’t much of a drinker, even socially. Nevertheless, Harleen took the glass in her hand and swirled the dark liquor within before sipping it. Her nose wrinkled like a child as the hot elixir slipped down her throat. She rearranged her features back into the placid expression of someone who was perfectly used to drinking scotch. She wasn’t quite sure what he meant by “dressing up” as a doctor, but she knew she didn’t like it.
"You will want to continue the facade you have crafted right now, best to not let our residents know you."
Her lips thinned almost imperceptibly at the comment. Exactly how much could he see through her veil of professionalism, and if he could see through her then who else could? She shifted in her seat uncomfortably. For a moment, it was beginning to look like this meeting would close with yet another denial. She raised the glass to her lips again and took a heartier swig this time.
"I can grant you the access to treating this patient right now if you so wish, but on the grounds that I am able to personally supervise it."
As the doctor uttered the words, it took a moment for them to register on her face. Once they sunk in, she smiled broadly at Crane. She sat bolt upright.
“Ya mean it? Gee, that’s exactly what I was hoping to hear,” Harleen popped up from her seat and eagerly shook Dr. Crane’s outstretched hand in a two-handed grasp. “Thank you for this opportunity, doctor. Of course you’d supervise. Well gosh, any guidance you have to offer is more than welcome.” She was giddy with long delayed satisfaction and could hardly suppress it. She held onto his hand a moment too long in her enthusiasm. After months of reflexive bureaucratic denials, Dr. Quinzel had finally gotten the golden ticket.
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Posted: Sun Sep 09, 2018 9:31 pm
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His cheeks rose and sat just below his eyes. Her enthusiasm was something that was lost on Arkham, something that he himself only had. "Perfect." He said in a sprightly tone. With his hand on her back, he guided Dr Quinzel out of his office, and down into the wards of Arkham. Mumblings, cries and screams echoed through the halls, to which Dr Crane seemed absolutely unphased. "Never a dull moment here." He said with a gentle laugh that pushed through his lips. He knocked on one of the doors of the more unwell patients, sparking them into a frenzy in their cell - for no reason other than he was curious to see what would happen.
Within the center of the wards, there was a wooden slab with a map of the building etched onto it, and with a grimdark victorian frame around it. "Now, Dr Quinzel. I am going to give you explicit access to here and here." He pointed to the Intensive Treatment Ward and one of the vacant offices to set up. "--The rest of the Asylum is open to you except The Joker's cell without my supervision, as discussed--" He adjusted his glasses as he leaned in towards the map, and pointed directly at a room. "--And the medicinal labs. They are prohibited right now." Jonathan had been working on an experiment within the labs in his spare time and had outright denied access to anyone other than himself from entering there. Rumours among the patients had swirled that he was performing unethical experiments upon the patients, but they were in here for a reason - and who would ever believe the insane?
Having made himself clear, he led Harleen down towards a cell within the Intensive Treatment Center that had two Asylum guards posted outside of it. On it's front, the door had a small window to peer through, and it was the only one of its kind with guards permanently stationed outside of it. "Both of you please make a mental note of my colleague here." He ordered before opening the door and leading himself and Quinzel inside. It was a small room with little space for breathing. There were three small iron chairs. Two for the doctors, and one was already occupied by him. The Clown Prince of Crime, so the Gotham Gazette loved to call him. He had been cuffed to the table to ensure that there were no surprises from him. "It's been a while since the court case, but you've seemed to taken Arkham nicely - so I've gotten you a friend. This is Dr Quinzel." He turned his head towards her and nodded for her to sit, and then back to the Joker with a cold look on his face. "She's taken a liking to you, so play nice." A brief smile emerged on his face then was gone. For now, he would act on his promise - there as an observer. |
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Posted: Sun Sep 09, 2018 9:37 pm
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♢♤♡♧
♧♡♤♢
╔══════════════╗♢♤♡♧♧♡♤♢╚══════════════╝
The Joker sat there silently, his toxic green hues flashing dangerously as the two medical professionals entered the room. The permanent ruby grin that was etched across his chalk white face widened slightly as they made their way toward him. The Joker's bight green hair was tousled sloppily down the sides of his face in long, greasy strands. The type of look one got from not bathing in weeks; this was probably because the last nurse that attempted to bathe him was sent home on medical leave after having a chunk of her ear bitten off.
"Doctor Ichabod!" The Joker cooed playfully as the man entered the room, leaning froward on the table slightly as he met the man's cold, crystal hues. "I can't remember the last time you came to see me. Really, it is quite rude of you to keep a girl waiting. That wonderful night we spent together in the court room... you said all those lovely things about me -- and then suddenly vanished! You never visit, hardly call..." The Joker gasped, his eyes widening in feigned shock. Don't tell me... there's someone else isn't there? No, no, actually don't tell me -- I don't think my little heart can take it -- Naaahh, that's okay... I've found someone else too..." The Clown's eyes wandered to the blonde woman behind Crane, before darting back to the spectacled man standing before him.
"It's been a while since the court case, but you've seemed to taken Arkham nicely..."
The Joker leaned back in his seat and inhaled sharply. "Well, the place is a filthy mess, my cell smells like piss, the food tastes worse, and on top of all that I think I saw a rat scurry past on my way over here -- I LOVE IT!"
"...so I've gotten you a friend. This is Dr Quinzel... he's taken a liking to you, so play nice."
The Joker's gaze wandered once again to Doctor Quinzel, once again feigning excited shock as he mouthed the words "me" and pointed at himself the best he could due to his hands being restrained from under the table. |
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Posted: Sun Sep 09, 2018 9:37 pm
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Dr. Quinzel clumsily gathered up her paperwork and eagerly followed Crane down the hallway. She nodded obediently as the director explained her new permissions and how the lab was still off limits. Curiosity about what went on in there did nag at her but was lost in the excitement of the moment.
“Of course, sir.”
As she was introduced to the full-time guards she offered then a chipper wave that was well out of place in the grim surroundings of maximum security. “Hello, fellas. Dr. Harleen Quinzel.” She held her lanyard aloft for them to get a good look at her identification.
As she was led into the room, her heart skipped. She had butterflies in her stomach.
“Good evening, Mister…uh…Joker. I hope we can make progress together.”
As the Joker launched into his bit about Dr. Crane being a neglectful suitor, she smiled and then let out a small giggle in spite of herself. Her snickering stopped when his icy eyes met hers. Something electric about his gaze made her freeze. Once again remembering the veil of professionalism that she needed to do her job, Harleen smoothed her features and nodded at the Joker before taking a seat.
“I’ve taken a special interest in your case, sir. You should know I haven’t been simply assigned, I’ve volunteered for this case. You have a unique profile that I’ve never seen before in my career and I was hoping we could learn from each other. You see, I’m very interested in what you do.”
The younger doctor sifted through her paperwork before taking out a hastily typed schedule.
“These are the hours I’d like to begin meeting, contingent on the availability of Dr. Crane to supervise, of course. He’s also interested in your progress. If there's a change in plans, I'll make sure you're informed. As a matter of courtesy.”
She showed the Joker the page momentarily before giving the sheet to Dr. Crane. Harleen moved to a blank page in her clipboard and prepped herself for note-taking.
“I’d like to begin our relationship by asking you a few simple preliminary questions. If you don’t feel comfortable answering them, understand that there’s no pressure to do so, but that continued lack of cooperation will just inhibit our progress and may result in the termination of my visits. Do you understand this?”
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Posted: Sun Sep 09, 2018 9:38 pm
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Posted: Sun Sep 09, 2018 9:38 pm
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Posted: Sun Sep 09, 2018 9:40 pm
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Posted: Sun Sep 09, 2018 9:42 pm
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♢♤♡♧
♧♡♤♢
╔══════════════╗♢♤♡♧♧♡♤♢╚══════════════╝
"Why don't you describe what you did to them for Dr Quinzel?"
The Joker's attention would snap to meet Dr. Crane's icy gaze. The Clown's head tilted slightly as he studied Crane carefully, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly as he takes in every bit of information he can gain from studying the spectacled man.
The Joker's ruby lips would slowly part, his eyes widening almost to the point of bulging, as a hearty laugh sounded from the depths of his diaphragm. It filled the room as the Clown Prince threw his head back, his laughing growing louder and more manic.
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!
When at last he had finished, a single tear ran down the Joker's chalk white face; one he instinctively went to wipe away before remembering he was in cuffs.
"Oh, Crane... Crane, Crane, Crane, Crane. I do believe I was wrong about you." The Joker finally said while shaking his head, his focus still on Dr. Crane. "I don't think you're quite the stiff I originally took you for! Oh, I can tell we're going to have lots of fun in the very near future."
His attention returned to Dr. Quinzel, once again staring into her crystal blue eyes; a slight and almost sinister smirk making its way across his face. "I throttled his throat, and plucked his eyes out. Guess he won't be looking at anybody funny anymore huh? Hoohoo!~" |
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