2014.04.15 - The Night of Owls - Joker's Wild

Deep within the bowels of Gotham, where even the strong dare not tread in the dead of night, exists a lone building. It is long and broad, parking lot filled with the empty shells of stripped vehicles. Barred windows are curtained shut, and looming over the street like the reaper's scythe is a neon sign reading the name of this damned place:

JOE'S BOWL-O-RAMA

Current within, Joker has secured the entire building for the night. Slumped over a counter is the corpse of the owner, a few hundred dollars impaled through a knife into his back. The attendants remain alive for now, shakily tending to the every want and need of the invaders. Except for one who's dead by the phone. The line was cut, but it was a cheeky move altogether.

A great big banner dangles from the ceiling, reading 'TEAM MORAL BOOSTING NIGHT!' Balloons are all over, and a few delicious cakes. About four lanes are open, and mayhaps twenty of Joker's more favored crazies are bowling and laughing, beer flowing heavily and clacked together.

One person is dead from a random fight with a broken bottle in the neck. That's how you know it's a Joker party.

Right now Joker is clapping for Harley, grinning ear to ear. A great big dufflebag is beside him, and he's dressed in sporty shorts and a casual tee-shirt that reads 'I'd KILL to play at Joe's Bowl-o-Rama!'

"C'mon, Harley!! If you get another gutterball, the other two WIN. And if they WIN..."

They die. The other mooks started out thinking it was a real game and got a good lead, only to find out all too late to throw it that the stakes were way higher than they thought. About six are surrounding them, laughing at the plight of those far less fortunate!

Harley has dolled herself up good and proper for tonights moral building party! She's wearing a pair of mens plaid slacks with goofy over sized bowling shoes pulled right off the feet of a young man who sits at the scoreboard booth with his hands knifed to the table top so that he can still work the keys with his fingers.

He will do so on the pain of death, no matter how bad doing so actually agonizes him.

The Clown Princess with her hair all pulled up into a pair of pigtails, has a bowling shirt unbuttoned over her usual black and reather leather corset. Her butt sticks 'waaaay' out with the ball held up like she saw on all the youtube videos when she was doing her research on 'bowling for dummies'. "You betcha mistah J!"

Wiggle wiggle. She starts down the lane towards the line, rears her arm back, and drops the ball well before an appropriate release point. It gutters... oh how it gutters... it gutters and it doesn't even make it to the end of the alley.

Also, she slips on her oversized shoes after stepping on the way to long pants leg and falls on her butt in the process with a profoundly loud and painful "OYEEEE I BROKE MY BUTT!"

No sooner has Harley dropped to the ground then are the windows on either side of the bowling alley exploding -- large, gleaming metal canisters flung into the interior. They land with a clatter, rolling across the sleek, polished floorboards -- rolling toward the largest cluster of Joker thugs and innocent bowling attendants. And then, with a soft 'CLKT', they proceed to hiss -- emitting a cloud of nauseous green gas from both sides, spinning wildly out of control. The cloud rapidly spreads from both canisters, threatening to engulf the room.

Both canisters are loaded with the Joker's trademark; SMILEX. Someone out there apparently has a twisted sense of humor.

"Oh no. It looks like you lose." Joker states, clucking a tongue at the two men opposite. They are desperately asking for a rematch, as the Joker reaches for his dufflebag. However, they are saved by the intervention of a deadly nerve gas. The first hisses out and engulfs a group of his men, the other billowing out slowly over the large area. Men are shouting, mayhap seven or eight of them managing to flee slipping and sliding over to the Joker, excluding the two who lost the game.

Total manpower: 10.

Joker pulls out a revolver, shooting dead the two who just won the bowling match.

Now it's eight.

Grumbling, he tosses patches around. Two of the men have absorbed some Smilex through the skin, twitching and struggling fingers managing to slap it on, only to exhale in pleasure as the poison is diffused. Harley's given one as well. They last about thirty minutes. He always keeps them around, on the off chance he wants his minions to survive. Only the Clown Prince himself doesn't bother.

"Someone's intruding on my trademark..." he states in a growl. "That just won't DO."

Of course, going so brazenly to an event with this many people... someone with access to a giant nest of informants and back-alley dealers would have knew they came here. Batman's posse has to tap into it purposefully, like feeling the pulse of the city. It wouldn't reach his ears until they already left.

Have the owls finally come to play...? Well. He exposed his neck for them. Let's see who gets who's jugular...

Harley is generally making a gleeful mess of herself on the slick floor trying to come out of the oversized clothes. In the end, she's barefoot wearing her usual red on black tight fit leather pants and corset.. eyes going all 'hungry hungry hippo' when the two men start begging for a rematch, "Nope! Fair's fair, you lost..." They really didn't, obviously.

Because they are saved by Joker's nerve gas, which is a pretty twisted turn of fortune if you think about it. How many people have ever sat down and thought, boy I sure wish SMILEX would fill the room right a- nevermind, they died anyways. Bullet to the brain pan.

"Puddin', is this part of the festivities?" She asks hopefully, almost expectantly. It is Monday night after all. They're due a good cullin' of the masses and this IS a moral party. Yet, Joker is tossing out patches, including to hench persons, so this clearly isn't part of the 'plan'.

She slaps her's on and skips over towards the struggling man whose stabbed hands are keeping him from retreating from the smilex. Leaning up against his shoulder is a rather oversized mallet which she hoists up easily and drops playfully onto her right shoulder. Her mouth twists to one side... then the other while looking the man over. "Mmmm...." Eyeing Joker... eyeing the man. Eyeing the smilex. Eyeing the man.

By the time she finally makes up her mind to slap an extra patch on him, it's far too late. In her deliberation on the matter, the nerve toxin has taken hold of his fragile little nervous system and rendered him hilarious. Still, she ruffles his hair while he giggles and takes up a position beside her beau. "Is it clobberin' time?" Hopeful.

Shortly after the canisters arrive -- and the patches have been thrown about, slapped onto the arms of some (leaving the bowling alley attendants to laugh themselves to death) -- the lights throughout the alley go out. Someone apparently decided to cut the power, now. Hnh.

And then... two sets of bright, glowing yellow eyes open. On either side of the room, gleaming from either of the windows. Shining like big ol' lamp-posts. Just staring at the remaining thugs -- and the Joker's gang.

Several seconds later, and the actual attack comes -- from above. The glowing eyes are just decoys set at the windows; the actual Talons are crashing in from the ceiling. Clad in all black, they are sleek, armored figures -- their bodies wrapped in kevlar weave that gives the appearance of exagerrated muscle. Their fingertips end in claws; their 'hoods' -- covering their entire faces -- resemble dark, menacing owls. With bright yellow eyes that glow brilliantly.

Both descend for two more thugs, their claws aiming to swiftly drill into the sides of either men's necks -- and quickly, effortlessly slice through their jugulars. It's a messy way to kill someone; there are far more efficient methods. But few are quite as terrifying: Watching two men suddenly scream as arterial sprays paint the room in crimson has a certain effect on the uninitiated.

Lights going out? Oh, that's rich. The Joker reaches into his dufflebag, and pulls out a number of flares. In a rip, one is lit just in time to see the silhouette of the true descending Talons. The horrific evisceration of the two men cause the remaining six to step back with widened eyes, one dropping his baseball bat with a clatter. The Joker's smile never falters. Never twitches.

He is very much an initiate.

Dropping the flare, he yanks out a mallet and with a grunt hurls it to Harley. This is not a fake one; a switch on the side would extend the handle to a good two meters, and it's bigger than her head. "Kill them."

Without hesitation, the remaining six rush towards the Talons. Two with knives, one a length of chain, two more with bats, the last bare hands because he had just urinated. It's like brainwashing. A click in their brain. They fear the Joker more than anything. With the Talons, they are granted death.

That is never a sure thing with the Harlequin.

It should buy some time. The flare is flung away, and three more tossed in all directions, lighting the area in a spooky aura. "I heard rumors that the Court of Owls was the true rulers of this city... such a naughty lie. If that were true... then they would know better than to think ambushing me in a place of my choosing was anything but *SUICIDE.*"

Several many things start to clicking away in Harley's brain. BEFORE WE GET TO THEM, let's describe the way she looks while thinking about them. Her eyes are rolled up into the corner of her sockets as if doing so is getting her closer to some imaginary file cabinet where smart stuff is stored. She has her mouth twisted into a 'thinking' expression: which basically like a pucker lipped kissy face with the lips twitched upwards curiously.

She scratches her head with a finger.

Now that we know she IS IN FACT thinking, let's get to what she's thinking about. 'Did I leave the iron on?' 'I hope I fed Bud and Lou' 'I tivo'd American Idol right?' 'Did Mistah J know this might happen and accidentally forget to tell you thereby putting you in the middle of a potentially life ending brawl surrounded by no lights and enemy wielded smilex gas?' 'How much wood WOULD a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood'

The Mallet is caught smoothly and extended as she whirls it around her hands like an expert at whirling mallets. She's learned at this junk.

"You got't baby! AYEEEEE!" She turns, jumps, plants her foot on the ball return, and leaps in the direction she came from, right at one of the decending Talons with her mallet swinging in a wide arc meant to knock him right over into the concession stands. "Bring me back a slurpy!"

What part of Batman drew him here to keep the Talons from their appointed task?

Was it the understanding that people like the Joker and Harley Quinn are just sick? People drowning in a mental illness they can't control. They need protection as much as others need protection from them.

Was it his personal code? The belief that killing is never acceptable. Even when it is his greatest foe who is the target.

Or was it a matter of territory? Gotham is Batman's city. Tonight, the Court of Owls wish to take it from him.

Tonight he will show them that the Batman is not so easily robbed.

The lights from the flare aren't needed. His cowl's lenses pick up what light there is an amplify it, casting the alleyway in a colorless light as bright as day. The window shatters, the glass swirling about him as he launches himself through it and lands in a crouch.

He is unusually equipped tonight. His mouth is concealed by what looks to be a small rebreather, one part in his mouth while two corrugated tubes trail behind his head to meet at the back. In his right hand he clasps the hand of what looks to be a sword, broad at the end and narrow towards the hilt. A Dao sabre. Old but well-maintained. Just like him.

The Bat makes no effort to put himself between the Talons and Joker's minions. They're safer unconscious. He moves behind the nearest one, driving his elbow towards the base of his skull. He wants them down, out and out of the way.

Six men charge toward the blood-soaked Talons. At once, in unison, the Talons fling their blood-soaked prey -- still twitching, still alive, still screaming -- at the two men with knives. Hey, we found these screaming things, we think they belong to you. CATCH.

And then the men with baseball bats are descending -- and the Talons ignore them. Should the bats strike, even against their heads, they will cause the Talons to stagger -- but little else.

Instead, the Talon to the left -- the one not targeted by Harley -- springs forward for the minion with the chain, claws seeking to rip through the metal as if it were merely plastic -- and drive his claws directly into his lower torso. And lift, aiming to heft him into the air by his own intestines, before -- flinging him right toward Harley, mid-swing.

The Talon on the right -- the one Harley is targeting -- steps back, out of the mallet's swing -- a clawed hand descending to attempt and catch the shaft, close to the mallet's base. And squeeze. A whirring sound is emitted from his armor, revealing it to be power armor -- capable of drastically increasing the wielder's strength. An arm capable of bending an iron bar pulls and twists, aiming to snap the mallet at the shaft -- as his other arm swings around, a narrow blade extending out from his elbow as he spins and brings it down, aimed for Harley's throat.

The unarmed minion? Well, Batman's got that one. But at the Dark Knight's presence, both Talons' eyes seem to dim -- as if in silent recognition.

The Joker watches, carefully, patiently. Observing the capabilities of the Talons. They avoid the ones with knives. They ignore the ones with bats. The weapons they wield are gruesome. Meant to inspire fear. Not so good for quick, easy deaths. He has a cane in his hand at the moment, before finally glancing over to the Batman when he arrives. Shouldering the dufflebag, he wiggles fingers in the Caped Crusader's direction.

"Are you trying to steal my *fun?* These people have got between us one too many times. I have a /plan/... be careful, or you'll die too." Whether the Talons hear him or not is really beside the point.

From the bag, the Joker pulls out a squirtgun. As the one not being hassled by Harley is in the midst of ravaging and hurling another minion, he pulls the trigger. A hyper-powered squirt of white fluid flies out. The intent to impact the Talon's face. What is it? Hot glue. Thick, heavy, hot glue. The kind that would completely blind someone wearing a mask with giant bladed fingers that can't wipe it off with them because it's not hardening.

Ridiculously stupid. But possibly ridiculously effective.

It's all kinda funny really. Harley just gets so use to biting off more than she can chew, she's developed an uncanny ability to actually gnaw on it anyways. Like gristle that you know will be impossible to moliate between your teeth, but is probably the best part of the meat to yummy down on anyways.

Her mallet is stopped midswing by whirl gear gloves and snapped in tway.. "HEY! That was my fa-" UMPH! The hurled intestined hurled goon hits her right across the shoulders and plows her over the back end of plastic seats and right out of the way of the sweeping blade of throat doomy doom.

The deadgoon is tossed off so she can ramp back up to her feet and cartwheel over the top of the ball return with one hand planted down on a fifteen pound black sphere, her fingers stuck down in the bored sockets as she comes up with the heavy melee weapon.

As of yet, she's not seen the Batman, but she hears Jokey talking to someone in an intimate kinda voice that would make her heart break if she didn't immediately know exactly who it was... It would be pointless to get jelly. Probably get deadly too. So instead she takes out her anger on the Talon, probably with an unexpected fierocity. The bowling ball is whirled around in sweeping eights, then comes down towards the Talon's arm, sweeping right through even if it doesn't hit to curl her body over a hyper extending hip to bring an axe kick down towards his other shoulder.

Batman simply glares at the Joker. The rebreather in his mouth keeps him from saying whatever it is he intended to say. Not that he would ever expect the Clown to listen to him.

But that's not his concern right now. His focus is on the Talon - specifically the Talon not currently under assault by Harley. Now he puts himself between the goons and the assassin, sword clutched in one hand and the other held forward to give him balance. It's almost as though he's working together with the Joker, if such a thing were indeed possible.

As the glue hisses through the air, the Bat takes his moment. He searches for and capitalizes on any weakness or distraction he might find. The blade sings through the air, levelled horizontally at the Talon's neck. The strength behind it is great. This is not merely an attempt to wound, this is a drive to sever the man's head from his body.

Not alive, he thinks to himself, reaffirming his tactics, ''Won't die. Incapacitate.''

Hot glue. Hot glue. Hot... glue?!

The Talon certainly doesn't see that coming. The glue splats across those bright, brilliant yellow eyes; at once, it's clinging to them -- splattering over the mask, the hood -- working its way into the intricate grooves and creases. It never touches the skin beneath that mask, but it doesn't have to; it's sufficient to blind him. Which is... really, all the distraction Batman needs.

CHOP. His head is neatly separated from his shoulders; his body twitches, spasms -- and then descends toward the floor. Curiously, there is no blood, no spurt of viscera -- the hole where his head is remains as dry as a bone, the crisp white edge of his severed vertabrae visible.

Meanwhile, the Talon who managed to snap that mallet finds himself turning to face -- a bowling ball? These are trained, professional assassins; they are used to dealing with warriors, not crazy people. He steps back, deflecting the bowling ball with his arm -- which, even with kevlar padding, wasn't a brilliant idea. Something cracks, though the Talon hardly twitches -- the Joker Minion behind him takes another swing with the bat, cracking against his spine, shoving him toward Harley -- though not before the Talon snaps his foot up and back, hammering it into the gut of the bat-wielder. Bladed feet make short work of the poor man's gut. *SNKRT*.

"Oooo. How MORBID. I didn't know you swung that way, Battie!! I'm feeling the shivers of LOVE all over again!!" The Joker titters. Only about three of his minions are left, and they aren't sure what to do. One swings a bat towards the Dark Knight from behind, aiming for his skull. One stabs at the leg of the remaining Talon. The third, miraculously still alive and unarmed, tackles the beheaded Talon as he falls to the ground. "HA! I got him!!" Sure you did, buddy.

"Harley. Go open the front door and stay to the side. My surprise should be ready." Joker states, tossing aside the glue gun. Then he goes prone, putting his fingers to his ears.

Didn't see that coming. Harley giggles about it while she comes back up to her feet from the dodgy kicky move and dances around the Talon in exagerated cartwheels that gets a bit of distance between them. Now she's got a second chance for that gutter ball. She brings it up in the same exact position as earlier and steps forward into a roll that would have easily scored her a strike before all this happened. Instead of pins, however, it heads right for the Talon's legs.

'Let him deal with that!' She thinks, mentally clapping herself on the back as she jumps behind the condiment counter to look for new and improvised weapons. What she finds is just a pair of ketchup and mustard bottles. Which she squeezes all up in that Talon's face, "Teehehehe, you're like a hotdog... I'm hungry." Lips quirking to the side.

Coffee pot full of hot coffee? Hurled at the talon. Deep fry oil? Hurled at the Talon. She even dips a little box of popcorn, tosses one in her mouth to be chewed vigorously, and then hurls that at him too.

"Right ontop of it mistah J!"

She flips over the booth and comes up in a tumblers roll dead run towards the front doors. Doors which she grabs and pulls opne while spinning out of the way so she's protected from whateve the 'surprise' is by the very door that was blocking it.

The Batman immediately lowers himself to the ground, planting both hands on the floor as the thug wielding the baseball bat swings ineffectually over him. He mule-kicks behind him, both feet directed at the Joker-Thug's sternum. He doesn't have time to deal with them as well as rampaging undead monsters.

Whatever this surprise is, he wants to be out of the way. He uses the momentum from the kick to propel himself back through the air, spiraling gracefully to land off to the side. The Joker's advice mightn't be meant for him but he's going to take it anyway.

Won't die saving him.

He turns his attention towards the last Talon, eyes narrowing.

The knife catches the standing Talon in the leg; he doesn't even seem to notice, his claws snicker-snacking out to cleanly slice through the man's throat -- not even sparing the poor mook a glance to confirm the kill. Kind of like the classic Batman backhand, except with more GRUESOMENESS.

The bowling ball, though -- that manages to catch the Talon off-guard. It smashes against his leg, forcing him farther back -- as an array of objects are hurled at him. Condiments; hot coffee. Deep fried oil. Each object, the Talon steps back, claws lifting to deflect, to swat aside; even the sizzling fat doesn't seem to bother him too much.

But then, once Harley has escaped, there's a Batman to contend with... and some sort of surprise. The Talon steadies himself, his claws extending... the power armor producing a low, steadily building whirr. Ketchup dripping from his claws, mingling with blood.

Bat vs Owl. Let's do this.

The thug gurgles, stumbling backwards before tripping and falling over, as the only one still conscious is punching at the immobile Talon, as if not realizing he's beheaded in the passion of the moment. But...  Once the door is open, the surprise is revealed; Ace, the mighty Hero Hunter, Man of a Thousand Tricks. And right before him, standing on a Lafette tripod, is a Rheinmetall MG3 3E -- a medium machine gun of portable size. It is belted with a box of .308 API; Armor Piercing Incendiary.

Instantly, the world is flashing bright beyond even the quickest probe, the sound absolutely deafening and terrifying within the open area barely lit by the flares. The rate of fire on this weapon is about 1,300 per minute. It is aimed towards the Talon primarily, each bullet capable of shattering through reinforced ceramics and igniting on the way out, teeth grit from the recoil. In a whirl, the burst would then be sent towards the Batman, Ace letting out a roar of satisfaction.

Clickclickclick. 500 bullets are gone in about 20 seconds. Sizzling spent shells surround the mercenary, and the tip of the barrel is glowing bright red while continuing to spin.

"Aw." That was pretty fun. Poor Harley though; she wasn't wearing any earplugs.

Harley didn't even know.

She was all, yes mistah j lemme open the door to hell for you an' stand here with it rattlin' like two feet from my ear! That sounds glorious!

Well you know what? It isn't. It sucks. Each pounding second of agony has her head feeling like someone is driving a nail right in through her ear hole and stabbity stabbing it right into her brain by way of tempanic membrane.

When the gun clicks, she doesn't even realize that there's no more sound. The pain in her skull is still radiating into a bland silence, a deafening silence.

"IT'S SO LOUD" She screams, still covering her ears, huddled down in the corner behind the open door, glass rained all around her where the sound of a freakin' machinegun shattered it.

"I CAN'T HEAR ANYTHING"

After all that loud, with all these new silence, she must be sounding all super loud and stuff.

"WHAA-WHAA-WHAA-WHAA" Giggling painfully, "I HEAR WHA WHAS"

The Batman's teeth clench at the sight of the gun. He recognizes the make and model immediately. His suit won't hold up to that and even using the Talon as a human shield raises issues. The assassin may already be dead but would it be within his rights to let it be rendered completely, irrevocably destroyed? Would its body even stop the shells? Unlikely. No, there's only one option he can think of and he doesn't like it.

He reaches out, grabbing the Talon by his shoulders and pulling him in close for something akin to a bear hug. His own strength is not enough to match the strength of the creature's powered frame but who knows? Maybe the surprise of a combatant who has been keeping himself at arm's length suddenly diving in for a grappling competition will afford him an advantage.

He leaps sidelong, attempting to pull both himself and the Talon out of the window and out of the line of fire. His Dao is left behind, clattering to the ground as he links his fingers in a death grip behind the assassin's back and refuses to let go.

"Ngh," he grunts loudly, the world around him suddenly falling silent as the cowl's earpieces block out all sound in light of the sudden increase in decibels.

The remaining Talon has one moment, and only one moment, to swivel his head around to stare at the business end of a mounted machine gun. Right before -- Batman barrels into him with a very unexpected charge. The Talon doesn't see it coming -- largely because it's pretty much the last thing you want to do against an enemy combatant who's heavily armored and has steak-knives for fingers.

A fact that Batman will be intimately familiarized with, as those very same fingers slam down for his back and flanks -- even as the Talon is slammed through the window, exiting amidst the flash and storm of gunfire behind. The rush of ammo makes short, quick work of the bowling alley; what few men were left alive won't be for long. The room explodes, tables bursting, walls shattering, timber cracking and splintering -- as dozens of fires begin appearing all over the room.

The Joker stands up amidst the hellfire, as if it was the most natural place in the world to be. He taps a palm into the side of his head, grimacing. "Ace. I want Batman. We need a heart to heart after all this..." Grasping his dufflebag, he then proceeds towards the broken window that Batman used to bodily hurl himself out with the Talon in question. Without haste, he breaks the window behind the pair in question, bracing himself with his cane to leap out into the alley with a grunt. Ace abandons the machine gun, flexing his own mechanical gauntlets. Not as powerful as an Owl, but... well. He also strides through the crackling fire and hissing smoke, just as the one remaining conscious henchman pops his head up, looking to and fro with bewilderment. "Uh." is all he has to offer. He just got the nickname 'Lucky'. Peed his pants, dropped his bat, charged two Talons, and he's the only one unscathed.

Harley stumbles out of the corner still wiggling her pinky fingers in her ears. Some of the hearing has returned, but she's a super long way from hearing the intricacies of something as magestic as the Gotham City Orchestra... so it's probably a pretty good thing she's not big on the orchestra.

"Did we win?" She asks, voice still raised, but as soon as she sees Ace striding in and the Joker leaping out with no batbody laying around? She sighs heavily and strolls over to the window herself, stopping only long enough to grab a corndog.

Which she dips in some of the ketchup dripping from one of the dead goons face as she passes.

She sort of just kinda stands there eating her treat, blood running down from both ears and tears rolling down her eyes from pain she doesn't otherwise acknowledge. She holds out a second corndog for Joker. "You should probably get some protein, puddin'. Sorry I di- ouch that looks like it hurts -dn't bring one for you B-man." Said at the clawy bits of sharpness.

The pain will come. And injuries. It's nothing he didn't expect using this gambit. It's nothing his suit isn't armored against to a degree, either. Knives are a common weapon of the criminal and so his suit has been made to stand up to them. Still, knives wielded with super-strength mean that the fingers would pierce layers of carefully-crafted protective fibers without too much issue. He needs to extricate himself from the Talon and quickly.

Once they have momentum through the window, Batman releases his grip around the Talon. Even as they fly through the air his hand darts to his belt, coming away with something from one of its many sealed compartments. On the ground with the assassin, he lifts his hand to shove it against where the creature's mouth would be if it weren't wearing the mask. A shaped explosive charge. A small, cyan light blinking in the center.

He doesn't waste time gloating, instead he spits the rebreather out onto the concrete as he launches himself up and backward. A backflip from a crouched position. High and arcing. The kind of thing a man of his size shouldn't be able to perform with as little effort as he seems to exert. He clenches the trigger built into the palm of his glove. The explosives detonate.

The Talon hits the ground -- hard. The impact cracks against his spine and back, but he's already rolling up to his feet shortly after landing -- having yet to notice the blinking little charge that's on his face. He's just rolling up to his feet, claws out, crouched low, assuming a stance to strike -- when Batman depresses that trigger in his palm.

BEEP. BEEP. B--

The explosion is small, controlled, precise -- and more than sufficient. The Talon's head is neatly detonated; a flash of brackish rust-red viscera emerges as his head explodes in a flash of brilliant light and a brief, detonating *THWOOM*. A moment later, and the headless body -- neck still smoldering -- twitches, still holding its stance... before collapsing with a thwump.

And the moment the Talon falls, the Joker can be seen, with an exceptionally long-barreled oversized magnum in both hands. Nearly comical. Grinning, ear to ear. There's a loud BANG! as it fires, the bullet absurdly large. If it hit Batman in the chest, it's not going to go through. No, it would shatter upon his ceramic armor. However, it would probably still feel like Superman just slugged him in the chest pretty hard, all the same. The smoking gun is tossed away, regardless of success.

"We need to talk." he allows, reaching out to snatch the corndog. "About us. Do you remember a time... long ago? It was... a theme park. In the rain. We laughed together, didn't we...?" It's like trying to peer at a painting through warbling water, distant and surreal. Like a dream, and sometimes impossible to separate. "Well. Harley made me realize something... you /can/ help me. Just as you always wanted..."

Disturbingly, the Joker seems dead serious. Ace moves to burst from another window like some hulking kool-aid man, aiming to attempt and tackle Batman. If he got hit by that bullet, it might be effective. Otherwise, he's probably going to get his ass kicked. Slow, martially inferior, and less armored than a Talon. And his throat's all nice and exposed, too.

Harley watches it all from the window while eating at her corndog like it's the most amazing piece of food stuff she's ever eaten ever, but really she knows that whatever is about to happen 'conversationally' between Batman and her puddin', legit makes her jelly. The hand extending the corndog out to Joker lowers back down to her side and she fills the void of silence by taking another large bite out of the side of her own.

Even the explosion doesn't excite her. SHe just stands there frowning behind the makeup with her blue eyes watching bullets fly and Ace's dive.

"Note to self. Start a mildly homoerrotic feud with a not yet named nemesis..." The stick is flicked out onto the fallen corpse of the still smoking Talon.

Batman lets out a grunt as the bullet hits him, slumping back against the wall and steadying himself with one arm. The pain shoots through him like fire. He growls, gritting his teeth as he immediately recognizes the sound of crepitus. A fracture. Another one. But he's had enough. He pushes through the pain. He ignores the blur of red haunting the edges of his vision.

"No talk."

He grunts loudly as he pushes himself off the wall, sliding out of Ace's path as the man attempts to tackle him. The Bat seems to do several things at once, the practiced tactic of taking on multiple enemies.

First, he draws a weapon from a specialized mounting on the inside of his wrist. The piece of sharpened metal fires into his palm, caught between thumb and forefinger before extending to the full shape of a batarang. Two of them, in fact. He flings it at the Joker's knee, eyes only taking the slightest of moments to calculate where the man is and what he's doing. The other sails at the hand holding the gun. Disarm and disable.

Second, his hand darts out - palm flat - towards the throat of the on-rushing Ace. A flat-handed chop through the air, set to strike the man in the neck and debilitate him long enough for him to focus his attention on the Joker.

Third, he turns to face the Joker proper. His cape swirling about him, several holes in it still smoldering from the incendiary rounds that only just managed to miss his body. The bat symbol marred and torn, the armored plating on his chest cracked and burned from the impact. Still he descends like an avenging angel, heaving himself towards the Clown.

He knows Harley is there, of course. He doesn't afford himself the luxury of ignoring her. But he makes no effort to stop her at the moment. She's just eating a corndog, after all.

The Joker manages to dodge the attack towards his knee, but this leaves his weapon woefully open. A clang of metal sends it cascading backwards, skittering away. Ace's own momentum defeats him, trachea smashed as he staggers past and thumps into a wall, wheezing and gasping for breath as he falls to his knees.

Okay. He officially knows which heroes are beyond his threshold to hunt.

"Yes." Joker says, slowly. "We're talking. One last time. Psychopath to psychopath." His cane twirls and thumps down upon the alleyway. "I realized something recently. You are my rock. My anchor. You keep me grounded." A deep sigh leaves him, almost as if affectionate. "Without you... the laughter fades away. And a monster comes out."

Slowly lips curl into a frown. "I don't like the monster in me. The one that comes out when the hallucinations fade... the madness creeps back... and all I can think about is how to kill every man, woman, and child in the city."

With a sigh, Joker twirls his cane. "So. That's how you will help me, Batsie. By continuing to play our game!! Otherwise, the curtain closes." His eye narrows, darkness within the wild green. "For you. For Gotham. And for me."

He suddenly raises the cane, and BANG! ... An umbrella pops out, red and white. He puts it on his shoulder just as it begins to rain. "I'm sorry I was so possessive. I almost RUINED what we had... you go and--and play with your owls. I'll find something else to do until you are ready. Harley, dumpling? Let's go home."

Ace is back on his feet, and his preference seems to be to try to edge past Batman towards the Joker. Hands up in a 'please god don't hurt me again' fashion.

Sure, Harley would love to stick around and watch her Jokey duke it out with the Dork Knight, but she gets to thinkin' about how delicious that corndog was and glances back over her shoulder at the ever so unmanned concessions stand. She looks back to Joker and the Bat, points in the direction of the food, starts to say she'll be there... then shrugs and starts that way.

She'll just be gone a few minutes anyways.

Back in time to see the finale! Her beau standing triumphantly over his Batty poo... The thought gets her all dreamy eyed as she leaps over the counter and fishes around for another corndog. Tearing open boxings which net zero pay durk. Her expression scrunches up... lips puckered off to the side. "If I were a corndog, where would I hide?" 'In my belly' "Soon." She goes for another cabinet and finds nada.

Alas, there is but one place left to search and upon thrusting open those doors... one smooshed corndog, much to her personal and hungrial chagrin.

"Well, Kroger has corndogs." She informs herself, fixing a big gulp cherry slurpie before she slides over the counter. Wait... 'weren't you suppose to do something? ' SHe squints her eyes thinking reeeaaal hard. Dead goons, check. Talons dead, check. Kick one in the side. BAM. Double check. "Be right there." She shouts from the bowling alley. "Gotta find a corndog... I threw one, I think I threw one..." She rolls a goon over searching, "Soooo hungryyyy..."

"If it's a game," Batman growls, eyes not leaving the Joker even as Ace passes him, "Then it's over for now."

He squares his shoulders, tilting his head to one side and the other to let his vertebra pop and crack. The fight has taken a lot out of him, this much is true, but that doesn't mean there's nothing left in him. The Batman is an almost endless well. There's almost always something left over.

His mouth becomes a grim, unyielding line.

"This is the part where you go back to Arkham."

Either by force or by choice.

Joker turns away as Ace limps past, still coughing and hacking. The rain spatters down, heavier and heavier, his preferred mercenary moving around the corner. "Fuck... don't pay me enough to be in this damn city..." he growls.

And then slowly, Joker begins to laugh. The umbrella drops, allowing the rain to splash on his face. Deep and heavy; letting go, a gust of wind takes the staff away. He stole it from Riddler's apartment, it's probably going to piss him off when he finds out.

"You're right. I'm... tired. Last time... last time you cuffed me, I broke the rules. That's what started all this, isn't it? We're both to blame."

Turning around, the Joker begins to walk towards Batman without haste. "Harley... go home and rest. I need... a break from the world again..."

"I need to go home."

He stands before Batman, meeting him eye to eye. Both slender wrists exposed, gloved hands in tight fists.

Harley hears all this and she really wants to break the rules herself, but... hasn't there really been enough of that recently? First there was B-man not payin' attention to her Jokey, then her Jokey nearly killin' her. Then the Owls, now this over powering desire for corndogs. There just isn't any control over these chaotic waves.

As much as she really does want to jump down there and fite(tm) the Batman, she kinda gets where her puddin' is comin' from. "Okay, but don't be long. I get lonely and then I get antsy and th- I should go." She grumbles about it sure, but she starts jogging past dead Joker goons until she reaches Lucky, "You jus' got a promotion. To drivin' miss Harley."

A smart person would be all like, but Batman will catch you. But a smart person wouldn't understand the relationship between Batman and Joker like Harley does. Even with him 'giving up' Batman would 'never' leave Joker unattended to catch the likes of Harley.

While she aint small potatoes or nothin', she doesn't have that bond. It's sad really, "Write about it in your diary, momma wants corndogs." The goon is not privy to the mental part of this conversation and he's recently removed from seeing all of his friends killed brutally... so.. he just runs with her.

To Kroger.

Then she'll start writin' petition letters to her local representative about the brutal treatment of her boyfriend.

But first corndogs. The Joker would want it that way.

Batman says nothing. He steps towards the Joker slowly, reaching to produce the cuffs from the small compartment at the back of his belt where they are stored. As he approaches he holds his breath. Whether or not he believes the Joker is another matter entirely. He's not about to leave himself open to another sneak attack. Not like last time.

He reaches out to clasp the Joker's wrist and to lock it in in the cuff. If there's no resistance, he reaches out to take the other one and bind up the Joker's hand. With the Joker suitably bound he jerks his arm back and drives his fist across his jaw. Hard. The sort of blow that sings for days after it lands.

"Consider us even."

There's no move. No twitch. A sign of familiar resignation. The Joker grins a little, which turns into a laugh. "Wait... we're missing someth--" And then he's struck in the face full force by the Batman's gauntleted fist. Slowly he goes ragdoll, slumping to his knees. "Th... that was it... just like,like old times... buddy..." Eyes roll into the back of his head, and he goes limp at Batman's feet. If any good came out of the Owl's assaults... it is finally bringing in the Joker. It will be temporary. It always is. But for a time, Bruce can truly be at peace.