niteo_logs | looks like death took a holiday...

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looks like death took a holiday...

Characters: The Joker, anybody else crazy enough to come by
When: April 14th, Afternoon
Where: Downtown Nesreca
Rating: Pg-13
Summary: Violent clown is violent

Gunshots rang out from the downtown side of Nesreca, a stark contrast to the quiet pattering of rain. The Joker was dancing in the parking lot of what had once been a department store, heavily armed and giggling maniacally. Every so often, he would whip about in a mockery of some elegant pose and open fire on one of the passing zombies.

Empty shells littered the ground around him, and once or twice, he had managed to trip over them, falling unceremoniously onto the ground before scrambling up to clip off another potshot at one of his new undead friends.

The ones that looked more ghostly he didn't bother with; the bullets just passed right through them. Waste of bullets. The still-dripping bodies of the soldiers caught in the civil war? Now, they were entertaining. They moved slow and were satisfying to watch when he scored a hit. He was taking a break from cracking their skulls open with a crowbar (infinitely more satisfying, but much more tiring), and was having fun switching between uzi, pistol, and the shotgun he had strapped over his shoulder.

He reached into his coat and withdrew one of the several grenades he'd decided to bring with him. There were boxes and boxes of them in the back; why not have a little fun?

As he was getting ready to pull the grenade he caught sight of a bald black man in an expensive, but blood-stained, suit. A trail of coagulated red streaked down from his temple, where a switchblade was still sticking out from. The Joker frowned and looked at the man, just about to pull the pin of the grenade and chuck it into the front of the department store building until a look of recognition lit up his face.

"Gambol! " he cried. fumbling with the grenade pin and the pistol he had in hand, trying to put the pin back and aim his gun at the man at the same time. "Long time no see!"

A blink. Then it wasn't Gambol.

It was Harvey.

The Joker held very still before cocking his head to the side. Maybe he'd gone a little too far off the deep end with that last episode.

"Nah... just far enough," he muttered. With a cackle, he pulled the grenade's pin, and, in his best bowling form, rolled it along the ground at the spectre of Harvey Dent.

"...here's your campaign donation, Harv!"

Raucous laughter, and then an explosion.

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As much as Yuui didn't want to leave the safety of their rooms, or his brother, supplies were running low, and he couldn't gather enough water simply holding the containers out the window. He'd promised Fay he would be gone just a moment, hanging his coat up to block the window.

The gunfire had drawn his attention however, and he took off to find the source, anxious for Fay's safety. Once he found the source he trailed him a fair ways back, a frown on his face as he studied him. He peered out calmly from behind a building, hair falling across his missing eye. His remaining eye widened in surprise at the explosion, and the disturbing laughter. He reminded him of his Uncle.

Unfortunately, the Joker hadn't gotten entirely out of the blast range in time, and the force of the grenade knocked him off of his feet. He picked himself up, and brushed his coat off, still tittering. A glance at the crater where Harvey had been standing proved that it was just a ghost. Just like he thought.

But more of the soldier-zombies were ambling their way into the parking lot. They seemed drawn to the sound of warfare; none of them approached aggressively, but each one he killed made noise enough to attract more.

The clown reached down and scooped up the pistol he'd dropped in the blast and withdrew another grenade. Working the pin out with his thumb, he pointed the pistol in the zombies' general direction.

Bang! Bang! Bang! ...click. Click click click click click.

Annoyed, he dropped the magazine out and scanned the area while he popped the magazine in. And then he saw it: a splash of gold among the gray backdrop.

He lobbed the grenade over his shoulder and into the lobby of the empty department store, pretending not to notice the other's presence, instead un-slinging the shotgun and starting into a shotgun dance, each few steps punctuated by a roar from the weapon.

Fay took a step back as the second grenade went off, a frown creasing his features. He'd grown accustom to various types of guns in is travels, though those were not part of his world, but these were entirely unfamiliar. Very destructive little things.

The man was unpredictable, and violent, two things that didn't pair well, and it made him nervous to know he was in the same world as his brother.

He moved to shrink back, return to his twin before this mad man took notice of him when a face caught his among the crowd. Ethereal and all that he remembered from his few scraps of her, long golden hair styled much like he had created Chii. She was dressed in the familiar winter garb of Valeria Country, a circlet crown on her forehead, and her eyes locked briefly with his as she walked through the path of destruction.

He stared at her with a disbelieving expression, and his feet moved forwards of their own accord.

After a few ridiculous dance moves, the shotgun was empty. Making a pouty face, the Joker holstered his pistol and withdrew a gloveful of shells from his jacket. Hurriedly stuffing them into the gun, he glanced up to see that shock of blonde hair moving toward him.

No, not toward him... toward one of the ghosts. One that looked like she didn't belong.

His gaze moved over the pile of mangled zombie corpses piled all over the parking lot, then back to the collapsed entryway of the department store. The whole sight of it made him grin. It was almost a sort of tableau, an artwork that showed what Nesreca might have looked like the night all hell had broken loose. How he wished he could have been there.

With the shotgun fully loaded, he drew his pistol again and rested the barrel of the pump-action over his shoulder. He sauntered in his odd, wobbly fashion toward Fay, taking an angle off from the focus of his attention in a meager attempt to get him by surprise.

Fay was only vaguely aware that he was putting himself in the sights of the crazed clown, but he was finding it hard to think when faced with the vision of his mother before him. How long had it been? He could remember nothing of her but her face...her face and the feeling of guilt that had overwhelmed him when he'd been told of her suicide. Because of him. It was all because of him.

She wouldn't meet his eye again, and continued on with a graceful walk that seemed out of place here. Fay quickened his pace, and abruptly she turned back, looking past him. Fay turned his head to see what she was looking at, and in the instant he did she faded away.

What met Fay was that grin- rows of little yellowed teeth, stained with the paint around his mouth like a slit in somebody's throat. But it wasn't just the clown's malicious gaze that was pointed at him; it was the barrel of the shotgun.

Well, the gun was more pointed toward him than at him, in the most casually threatening manner that could be done. He looked the eyepatched boy up and down before licking his lips.

"She's a real looker. Weird fashion sense, but I can't really blame her."

Keeping the end of the gun pointed at him, he started to circle Fey, dissecting him with his eyes like a sick boy with his sister's new dolly.

Fay's eye narrowed, unable to keep his dislike for this man from his face. No false smiles for this one, he seemed to have that one down on his own. He watched him calmly, not frightened by the gun, though he was still bristling from his words.

"You don't have much respect for the dead," he noted, looking back to the destruction the clown had left in his wake.

"Y'know, I don't think they got much respect when they were still breathing," he said, gesturing at the bodies with his pistol. "They won't mind."

He gave Fay a few pokes with the shotgun as he circled him. "And what are you supposed to be, hmm? Huh?" A prod. "No smiles for me this time? Lost your sense of humor?" His expression turned threatening.

"Ohhh," he murmured with another lick of the lips. "I get it now. You're another fake."

The Joker chuckled and nodded sagely before stopping in front of Fay. His glare, dark and malevolent, bore into the one azure eye Fay had left. "A sham. I know 'em when I see 'em, kiddo: natural-born killers, menaces to society, monsters trying to fake it 'til they make it."

His grin widened. "Aw, come on. Smile for me. I used to be one, too, you know."

His frown grew more annoyed with the poking, head jerking to glare at him. His lips twitched. No...no smiles for this one. He wasn't sure he remembered how to at the moment. It had taken him so long to learn, and now he couldn't quite recall which muscles it were that brought that cheerful look that Ashura liked so much.

His eye widened in surprise at the accusation. Killer? Menace? Fake. All true. How did he know?

"...Fake?" he repeated, the corner of his lip curling slightly.

"Oh, please," he said, those beady black eyes still locked on the only eye Fay had left. "Don't play stupid." He followed with a growl. "You're smarter than that."

The shotgun was still held at waist-level, and at the Joker's retort, he wiggled it at him. But there were only those eyes, piercing and black, which acted as black mirrors for Fay's thoughts.

"Or you can act like a little boy, and you can see how well I can juggle."

"I am, yes," he said, then glanced down at the gun with a frown, "I don't like those."

The final comment managed to earn a small laugh. "Little boy?" he said with an amused expression, arching a pale eyebrow, then putting the smile back in place, "Mmm, fine. Fake, so? What's it to you?" he asked, head tilting.

The Joker only snickered at Fay's response.

"I asked you nicely," he growled, cocking the handgun and holding it up, sideways, at Fay's head.

"I know your type. You think a little humanity makes you human," he hissed. A little bit of hack-research went a long way. "But you and I both know... the means and the ends... they're the same thing."

There was a long moment where the Joker eyeballed Fay... and then he lowered the shotgun and began to holster the pistol.

Fay blinked at him, not entirely sure what he was getting at. He had learned how to smile for his savior, he wasn't entirely unhuman...just cursed.

"If I'm not human what am I?" he asked calmly, relieved that he was putting the weapons away. He could stop them...probably, but with his left eye gone his magic was depleting with each use. "Why is it you think you know me so well, hm?"

The Joker took note of the relief in Fay's stature. The shoulders seemed less tense, the eyes less.. inquistive. But that wasn't nearly so much fun.

He resumed his circling, moving to Fay's blind side, and his left hand fished around in a pocket after he shouldered the pistol. There came a soft clinking sound.

"Misery loves company," he said. "There's only one small difference between you and I. I'm honest... and you're a liar."

Fay had to crane his head to try and view the source of the clink, brow furrowing. It wasn't a sound he was familiar with. He brushed his hair from his good eye, narrowed with suspicion again.

"My lies don't hurt anyone," he said softly, "Does everyone from your world look like you?" he asked with a grin, attempting to change the subject.

"Not until I'm done with them," he said with a pernicious grin. The Joker again circled Fay, slinging the shotgun over his shoulder before digging about in his outside pocket.

"By the way... you wanna know how I got these scars?"

Fay wanted to retort by asking if that meant he dressed them all up and painted them to look like clowns, but it was probably better not to annoy him. He'd been flippant with his life before, put little meaning to it beyond getting back to revive his brother, but now that he was alive again he had a new reason to live. He couldn't leave Fay all alone, not in this world. Maybe somewhere safe, with Kurogane, or the Princess to look after him and show him kindness, but not here.

"I hadn't noticed them," he said, continuing to beam, "Thought it was a very big smile."

"Oh, it was," he said. There was another click, unmuffled like the other, the sound of a switchblade being opened up. The Joker made an effort to move just out of eyesight as Fay might have tried to turn to see him.

"I had a stepbrother once, when I was young. He was a lot bigger than me. Stronger. A bully. And he was crazy- a real bad egg. So, one day he said, 'Hey, let's go out into the woods, down to the ravine. I have some cigarettes. Brotherly bonding time'."

The Joker continued to circle Fay, and as long as Fay made no overt effort to face the clown and keep him at bay, he would be just at the corner of his sight.

"Night came, and we made a fire. He pulled out a knife, and told me a story... a story about the world, about how bad of a joke it was, about how I really ought to smile more. And then, laughing the whole time, he held me down, and then he put the knife in my mouth."

He stopped in front of Fay, holding up the knife, as though it was the very knife his 'brother' had used.

"And then he did this," he said, cocking his head from side to side, indicating the scars. "...to me. And you know what? Now I get it. Now I can't help but smile."

Then he drove the knife toward Fay's only good eye.

Fay listened to the story, standing stiffly trying to follow him with his gaze but he seemed to constantly be on the edge of his sight. His smile faded, head bowed some what, not liking this story, gaze lingering on the knife.

Though he had only a fraction of a second in which to react there had been no moment of disbelief as there had been with Syaoran's clone. He hadn't believed the boy would truly hurt him, and so he hadn't defended himself. This time there was no hesitation, and he whistled loudly, using sound magic to bring up a barrier between them, wind whipping at them and his face settled into a determined look.

"Nice story. You wanna hear mine?"

"Not really," he said, his voice deep and growling, different from the mocking and enticing voice he'd used to tell the story. He was driven back by the force of Fay's magic, and the defense elicited a sick laugh that said, 'What did I tell you? No different!'

The Joker turned away and darted toward the department store, swinging a gloved hand back to toss the grenade he'd been cooking for about three second toward Fay- resulting in an explosion directly in front of him. The force of it would be enough to send the twisted clown to his knees, forcing him to scramble back up and keep running, but he figured it served as a sufficient deterrent. Either that, or he would be dead- either was fine with him.

Fay closed his eye, explosion rocking his shield, testing its strength and it fell soon after, the wizard wincing at the destructive force. A hand came up to brush along the fabric of his eye patch, frowning lightly, wondering if he'd really intended to blind him. That would have been the death of him without Kurogane here, his magic was all that was keeping him alive right now.

He watched the Joker, but did nothing to stop him, stepping back through the rubble with a wary expression.

And with a sharp right turn, the Joker ran out of eyesight, the last view of him being the purple tail of his coat trailing behind him.

Despite his inability to blind or kill the sham, the Joker was still giggling. First impressions were everything.

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looks like death took a holiday...

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