http://glasgow-smilin.livejournal.com/ ([identity profile] glasgow-smilin.livejournal.com) wrote in [community profile] niteo_logs2010-05-03 07:46 pm

friendly fire is a funny term....

Who: The Joker [closed]
Where: Somewhere in Credinta
When: April 23rd [backdated]
What: A rare moment of cooperation with the police

The man in the phone booth mutters sullenly under his breath.

His head, lowered, swings from from side to side in a form of mixed disappointment and anger. He is still for a few thoughtful moments... and then he starts to giggle. A sharp click and a series of beeps comes as he yanks the payphone from its receiver and punches in three numbers. Three soft ringtones follow.

"...ringringringringringring... ah!"

"Hello? Credinta PD, what is your emergency?"

"Not an emergency, ma'am. At least... I don't know, maybe there is..."

His voice has changed- a voice-act; it's deepened, sounding less nasal, more... normal. It sounds dazed and confused, and is given a hillbilly accent.

"What is the nature of the problem, sir?"

"I think I saw one of 'em. Crossing the river."

"...from Nesreca, sir?"

"Yeah. He was tallish, blonde hair. Brown jacket and blue jeans. I don't know, maybe he was just a normal guy. But he looked kinda... off, know what I mean?"

"When did you last see this individual, sir?"

The man withdraws a device from his jacket pocket and toys with it for a few moments.

"Uh... about four hours ago. Spotted him with some binoculars coming toward the river."

"Thank you for your description, sir. We will see to it the matter is handled."

"Just... be careful. I dunno, he looks sort of friendly, but... look careful at his face. He's dangerous, I know it."

"Thank you for the caution, sir. Have a good day."

"Just be careful!"

He slams the phone done and turns out of the phone booth. There is a little boy standing in his way, a little boy who had been waiting very patiently (like good boys do) for his turn to use the phone. But when he gets a good look at the man's face, at the horrifying scars that stretch from the corners of his lips to his ears, he can't help but stare (like bad boys do).

The man glares directly into his eyes for an eternity. The boy's legs begin to shake; he can't explain it, but it's taking all of his focus to keep from wetting himself in the face of the hatred hidden behind those eyes. Finally, those scarred lips part into a mischievous grin. He squats down and levels with the boy, and somehow, it's scarier this way, right in front of him, than it had been when he was looming overhead.

He digs in his jacket and produces a very small gun- a three-shot derringer. The man takes the boy's  hand and stuffs the gun into it before clamping his fists over the hand, gun and all.

"Shh," he says with a wink. "Our secret. Happy Halloween, squirt."

With that, he stands, chuckles darkly, and walks away.

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