2014.04.10 - The Big Punchline

Direct delivery! Rather than go through the normal channels, a man in a fine baby blue outfit similar to the post office approaches the front desk, holding an envelope. The situation is explained to the receptionist, who would likely ring up Jimmy to offer him the same; a Gotham celebrity is going to be leaving his normal haunt, and do a performance in the rest of the city! The notecard within the envelope is all crisp and formally written, inviting him to a small diner juuuuust on the wrong side of 'seedy'. It's written that he wishes to remain anonymous until the face to face meeting, as people intercepting the message would otherwise 'spoil the surprise'...

The diner in question is all glass windows, slightly dirty. In the 70's it was likely popular with children in the nearby residential apartments, but has fallen on rough times. Inside, at the icecream counter, is a single person sitting on a stool. A brown trenchcoat enshrouds him, both hands in gloves, and a large fedora casting his head into shadow. He seems to be enjoying a banana split, from the looks of it. But it's the right time and locale! A white van idling in the nearby alley is probably noted, but hardly *dangerous*... There's no law against it!

Jimmy Olsen is certainly no stranger to getting weird requests in the mail, but this one is certainly interesting if nothing else, and Gotham has no shortage of wackjobs and 'eccentric' celebrities. So it's a toss-up, and the young man eventually decides to go for it. So he shows up at the diner, digital camera and a similar tiny recorder in his pocket, wondering just what is up.

He enters the diner and there is the personage just as described. So he walks up and hops up on the stool beside the man (?) and glances for the counterperson for some service - nobody is in sight, but poor service is a hallmark in these kinds of joints. "So, I got your invite," he says, the young man keeping the camera and recorder out of sight for now - sometimes these celebrity types are squeamish.

It's strange. There's no sign or hint of anyone else here. At this time of day, it should have some occupants. Now and then people walk by, but something seems to spook them from outside line of sight when they reach for the door and they hurriedly move on. Bodyguards? Maybe. If he's a celebrity, it's possible he rented the whole place out and is having unseen thugs glare at potential customers.

"Why are they called banana splits?" hums out a curious voice. Jimmy would see a white chin in the shadows of the man's face. "There's a banana, but I don't see the split." His spoon dips inside, coming up with another mouthful. Turning slightly, the red grin of the Joker is leveled at the reporter adjacent. "Oh well! What's life without a little mystery?!" Green eyes are manic, the cheshire grin like that of a predator ready to go for the throat, even though the infamous serial killer sits calmly and without the slightest hint of impending violence...!

"Usually, um, I think they cut the banana in half," Olsen says. "Or they're supposed to." An utterly banal response, if factual, delivered on automatic while the rest Jimmy's brain tried to find a way to crawl out and run away on it's own. He's faced down robot armies, broken the time barrier, and done a million other weird and crazy things to the point that nothing much really scares him.

Except this. The Joker, here, not even a foot from him. His lower stomach fills with ice, as he pauses and tries to collect his thoughts. A breath. Another one. Say something. "So you're planning a big performance; in Metropolis?" he says. Get the story. Get the story if it kills you. Which it probably will. "Mind if I record this?" he says, his hand going VERY CAREFULLY AND SLOWLY to open the upper part of his jacket, showing the small device clipped there, with no red light to indicate it's working.

"What?! Why didn't they cut my banana, then?! THIS is what's truly wrong with society!!" Joker hisses out, picking up the bowl in one hand and aggressively standing, stool nearly toppling before bending over the bar to glare down. "Now I DEFINITELY don't feel bad for killing you!!" He hurls it at someone behind the counter. There's a thump of breaking glass. An organic thump. Probably better for Jimmy not to look. The Clown Prince settles back on his stool, huffing as he adjusts his position on the stool. After a few moments, it's as if the Joker remembers Jimmy is here. He turns towards him and *grins*. "Yes!! I am! I don't USUALLY leave Gotham, but I got inspired, you see..." He's said neither yes or no to being recorded. Jimmy's going to have to make that decision himself. But there's a sense of... chaos. Like the Joker was a revolver with a single bullet. Every interaction with him, every word, the dull 'click' can be heard. What will happen when that proverbial bullet goes off...?

Jimmy's thumb clicks on the recorder the minute The Joker stands, and lets his jacket fall back into place. "Really? What inspired you, and why did you choose Metropolis?" he says as calmly as he can, turning just so he can see the man and get good sound pickup as well. Door to the back. Too far to get to. Counter. Obstacles but might could clear it, but there is a hot grill there. His mind retreats from what The Joker could do to him with a large flat grill. The door I came in? Opens inward. Time to open it to me and get out: not enough. Get the story.

It's as if the Joker is in another world. Calm, composed, one knee crossed over the other. Yet still that grin, that unstable and unreadable grin. If Jimmy's somewhat frantic examinations are noticed, there's nothing outwardly said about it. "I was watching a movie." is stated with a sigh. "I thought it was hilarious. Great stuff! So I decided to do a remake." His chin rests on the bar, gloved fingers tapping his angular chin. "But it won't work in Gotham. Doesn't fit the *feel.* You know? I consider every section of the city to be like a backdrop. Hmm. Superman is too much for it... Not Metropolis. I think... yes. New York proper will be where I unveil it!" A closed fist thumps into his hand.

"Going for a Broadway sort of opening?" Jimmy says, hoping to tease out of bit of the archvillain's plan, so when they find his body they might be able to stop whatever insane plot The Joker has come up with. "Or more avant-guarde, Off-Broadway?"

"Explosive." Joker states, pressing his fingers together and raising them to rest on his chin. "And unexpected. Nobody will be able to guess what I'm going to do. That's why I'm having an interview. I'd like for the city to whisper and murmur. What is it?! What's coming?! It's EXCITING, isn't it?!" The more pressing question might be what the bodycount might end up as. But... right now, Jimmy's in Metropolis. And if anyone could stop the Joker... with one press of a button...

Jimmy nervously bites his lip as he nods, hands dropping to his lap. One hand on the watch. That's the problem, though, isn't it Jimmy-my-lad? Almost everyone who is anyone knows about that watch, don't they? The question, though, is: Does he? Brilliant, yes, but mad. Mad, yes, but not stupid. Jimmy's read hundreds of reports of The Joker, and they all eventually add up to that. All he can do is try, and hope. Click. Zee Zee Zee... ultrasonic pulses race out across the city. Hope, hope He's not on another planet or whatever. "You're just planning the one performance, though? The last, um, act in Gotham was a three-parter. Are you going in a new direction, then?"

"Why did you have to do that?" the Joker states suddenly. He sounds genuinely upset. "I just wanted to do an interview with you." A moment later and there's a great burst of green gas from the flower on his purple suit, revealed beneath the trenchcoat. It's not Smilex, of course... a simple knockout formula, with a nigh instant onset. "Really... I was even trying to be CIVIL. Only /one/ person died!! And he deserved it, for messing up my dessert!!"

"No, I...!" Jimmy's eyes widen and he starts to protest, but the gas... it works almost at once, and he drops onto the counter and then slides heavily to the floor. Darkness...

In a moment, the Joker moves to press the button again, before shifting to snatch the watch and toss it away. "Hrmph." Superman is a busy, busy individual. But maybe not busy enough. Pressing a detonator, there's suddenly three massive explosions within Metropolis at the same time; a crane, a scaffolding, and one derailing a subway train with only a dozen seconds before disaster. ONE of those should keep anyone from responding in time. With the intent to drag Jimmy by the scruff of his jacket towards the door, muttering all the while...

Jimmy is certainly unable to protest, the youth limp as a sack of potatoes.

Jimmy is hauled into the van, which has screeched to a stop in front of the icecream parlor. Taking only a moment to savor the sound of chaos, he slips in after and the door slams shut. It screeches off, Joker whistling all the while. "Superman's no fun. Not because he's strong... but because his weakness is so easy to EXPLOIT..." Batman's better. He has his morality, but the insanity there... hmmhmmhmm. Delicious.

Jimmy would find himself being sprayed in the face by a seltzer bottle in a dark area, stuffy and heated as if the circulation is poor. He's unharmed, although watchless. Joker is sitting in a brown chair, and a number of other random items are stacked in. Boxes and storage. Behind is a ladder, leading to a sealed hatch. Fallout shelter. Old one. ...Lead. "Now, where were we? I forgot your last question." Yes, Jimmy would find both his camera and recorder are both still on his person...

Jimmy swallows and spits as he's woken up, which comes as a complete surprise to him. Awake. Alive. Whatever. He blinks water from his eyes and shakes his head. "UM, I.. oh. Yeah. You're planning just one performance, though? The last act in Gotham was a three-parter. Are you going in a new direction, then?" he says, remembering to key the recorder on.

"Yes. A single performance in a new venue. One night show. Then I'll return to Gotham." The Joker states. His voice is the exact same as it was within the icecream parlor; as if the entire knockout gas and citywide distraction leading to his kidnapping never took place. "...Hmm." Scratching at the side of his head, the Harlequin then shrugs his shoulders.

"Actually, I think we are done. That's about it." Scooting back the chair, he gets up and puts his arms behind his back, moving to stride past Jimmy. "Thank you for your time! I hope you write a good article. I want people looking FORWARD to this one...!" Did he really just do all that, only to end up not continuing the interview at all...?

Stall! Jimmy's mind yells. "Do you think Batman will be a problem?" There's a risk there, even mentioning the flying rodent. He knows this. But it's also the best way to wind him up and keep him talking. Perhaps. "Moving the venue might not be enough, do you think?"

All this time, that unseen revolver kept clicking. Empty chamber. Click. Empty chamber. Even trying to signal Superman... Click. Empty chamber. But the moment the name 'Batman' is said... the capricious, playful personally is gone.

That one lost the game of Russian Roulette.

The Joker has simply stopped, standing facing the ladder, hands behind his back. He says nothing, does nothing, but there is an air of true, genuine danger here that even being in the clutches of an angry kraken might not compare. This man has no fear. No ration. Jimmy is used to being protected by Superman... if not rescued, then by the fact that who would be stupid enough to *hurt* him?

This man would be.

"That was rather impolite..." Slowly pivoting, the partial light from a dirty bulb casts a nearly demonic shadow across those pale white features, crimson lips drawn into a frown. "I said... the interview is over..." This is beyond thin ice. This is in the midst of falling through it, into the frozen abyss beneath.

The youth's jaw clenches tight for a second, when he sees what a terrible mistake he's made. Maybe, just maybe, his last. "And I'm sorry, but then... Who will know? If you don't complete it? Who will get the joke, if you don't do the set up? You know what Carson said: if they buy the bit, they buy the joke. They have to buy the bit, first."

"No." Joker states, beginning to stride towards Jimmy now. A flick of a wrist has a switchblade in the pale man's hand. He cleans carefully beneath a tail. "Your question was about Batman, wasn't it? What IMPORTANCE he had to this?" He would come to stand over the news reporter, the bulb to his back; suddenly blackening him out beyond a dark silhouette. And the gleam of the blade.

Jimmy swallows and looks up, not incidentally baring his throat. "More like: how can you possibly plan for something like that, something we see as something so unexpected? How in the world have you kept staying one step ahead, all this time?"

"Stop trying to distract me...!" the Joker growls. He hurls the knife, and if Jimmy does not react, the tip would stick into the concrete close enough to his crotch to pin a bit of the fabric. "BATMAN. You wanted to know about BATMAN. Wasn't that right?!"

Jimmy shakes his head. "No. This is YOUR interview, not his. It's not about him, but your reaction to him. Just like I'd ask Darkseid about Superman. I need to understand, and our readers need to understand."

"Understand...?" Joker moves to crouch before Jimmy, and grasp him by the front of the shirt. "Understand...?! What is it you would LIKE to understand?!" He's surprisingly strong, for someone so slender... the power of manic strength?

Jimmy's breath catches in his throat for a second. "Everything," he says at last. "Your process. Your method." Still wet in the face, his hair dripping, he holds up splayed empty hands in a surrender gesture. "Your performance - what does it mean?"

"..." Joker seems almost intrigued by the question. Usually, it is asked by psychologists. Or angry vigilantes. Never by just a mundane human, in such a mundane scenario. "You wish to know why I do what I do?" He moves to begin circling Jimmy, the pacing like a shark slowly closing in on prey. "It's not complex. It's simple. So simple, I think everyone ELSE is mad!!" At the latter, he gets disturbingly close, drawing Jimmy nearly nose to nose with the world's most famous serial killer. His breath smells oddly pleasant. "Long ago, I was an editor for a famous author. Yes. He was quite elderly, and old fashioned." He'd drop Jimmy to resume circling. "He wrote his manuscripts by hand. Painstakingly. He would not allow them to be typed up until he was completely done..." Is this the origin of the Joker?!

OK, Jimmy's mind being what it is, the most fleeting of fleeting thoughts that flash through it is 'Pulitzer!!', but he calms down. Get out alive, first. He nods, listening to The Joker, green eyes watching the man closely. The nod, the casual indicator of 'I'm listening' and 'go on'.

"He was nearly dead. He had finished his memoirs. A brilliant autobiography! And I was going through it, nearly done. He had only those old fountain-type pins... where you must draw the ink up from a pot, you know... and as I began to carefully underline an error, I sneezed. This resulted in a splotch landing on the paper. In a panic, I stood. Too fast. I struck the desk, and knocked his entire manuscript to the ground. As I tried to speed around to retrieve it, I knocked the ink pot over. It landed right on his life's work, of course. Black ink everywhere. My attempts to gather them up and fix the damage only made them worse. At that time, the elderly author came in to check on me, see what the noise was about. He saw the crumpled papers, stained black, in my hands. He had a heart attack, and died." The Joker goes quiet then, solemn...

Jimmy is quiet, studying the man, trying to absorb every detail, every nuance. Mad. Brilliant. All the same, maybe. He puts two finges to his chin, scratches the faint stubble there, considering and listening.

"The police came. They thought I destroyed his work on purpose. There was a humiliating trial. Only a hung jury saved me from prison. I had nothing. Nobody would hire me. Broke and penniless, as I stood in the rain outside my apartment just after being evicted... it dawned on me." The Joker smiles. "A sneeze. My life, my entire life, was destroyed. By a sneeze!! Can,can you believe it?! I couldn't stop LAUGHING!! Not even when the paramedics came, or when they fell bleeding from being stabbed in the jugular, not when the ambulance crashed into a semi truck that ruptured, flooding it with horrific chemicals..." Joker grasps Jimmy and shakes him. "I STILL haven't stopped laughing. Do you know why? Do you know what punchline I finally understood?!"

Jimmy has been drawn in, perhaps against his better judgement, and the sudden turn-around startles him as he's shaken. "No.." he manages to say, a frantic look coming into his eyes.

"..." Joker deflates. Sighs in disappointment, letting Jimmy go and standing up straight, head lolling backwards. "Exactly." he laments. "And that's why, I'll keep doing what I do. Until people *get* it. ...I'm done talking. Go write your article, now. If you say another word..." As the Joker moves towards the ladder, he glances behind with a glare sharper than any knife. "I will /kill/ you." As he begins to climb the ladder, he chirps down. "Don't forget! One time venue! COMING SOON!! Look /forward/ to it!!"

Jimmy certainly believes the man to be true to his word, and he is quiet as a mouse. He makes sure the digital recorder is OK, and the small digital camera can hopefully get a couple of darkened pics of the departing arch criminal.

The flashes of the camera don't bother the Joker at all. A few twists open the shelter, and he clambers into the basement of an old building. Only to slam it shut, jam a crowbar into it, and twist. Within, bolts creak and pop. Human strength will not be able to get it open from the inside, now. One of his henchmen walks up, handing him Jimmy's signal watch. Dangling it from a finger, he then strides out to a mundane vehicle, putting on a pair of shades. Settled in the front seat, he activates the transponder before flinging the watch in front of the building. Without haste the car drives away, as the keening emergency wail is sent out to Superman once more...

END