Marched down the halls was Arkham's pride and joy, the little bastard child of Gotham. Having been scrubbed clean and made presentable since he had begun his stay in the sane world, he would give a rather disintrested look at the guard as he stopped and opened the door. Remaining where he stood, that white attire having been pulled on him forcefully earlier. So far he had been less than cooperative with the proceedings, mostly for his own personal amusement. The guard would glare at him, huffing abit as the former clown prince remained staring at that man with a complete confused look. Rings of metal having been issued about his wrists, keeping him contained, would clatter as he pointed into the room and asked rather innocently. "Oh.. you want me.. to go into the room?" He knew what he had wanted him, having walked these halls and made his way down to this familiar room time after time. And he constantly had sent doctors turning in resignations or asking for transfer. The count so far was five, the last having been foolish enough to fall for the ploy of asking for a pen so he could draw how he felt. It had taken hours of surgery to correct the eye, and all the while Joker had hooted and hollared. The reasoning he had done it was never clear, but then again not much was from this man. Pale, almost sickly features, would twist into a rather sorrid glare as he'd enter the brightly lit room tapping his tips of fingers together. Hair still having that rather messy coloring, but atleast looking combed. Not on his part no doubt, but if one had asked any of the people whom had seen this mad man about town he'd be almost unrecognizable. Save of course for the jagged sinks at the corner of that mouth that gave him his disturbing smile, despite the placcid look resting upon his face. Perhaps from his medication, perhaps from the utter boredom that the asylum had induced into him.
Head tilted to the side like a dog who'd been taunted with a ball. Head moving from side to side, making jagged blonde locks move back and forth, to and frou, it seemed like it was the only entermainment the Hench Wench had now. Those blue eyes casted up towards the ceiling, but she was trying to see her roots. Trying to see how much of the chemical remained in her hair. Small petite frame covered in the same off white attire, more the one layer of course because it always seemed to be freezing in Arkham. Arms keeping whatever kind of muscle tone she had before, but still looking breakable, not strong at all. Torso, was desirable according to some --- the material that clung to it made it so that went without speaking. Well the lower half of her form was consealed with hospital issued pants. Her name used to be Harleen Quinzel, she used to be a doctor here, now she goes by Harley Quinn, now she's the moll to the Clown Prince of Crime. She used to dress in designer work suits and wear reading glasses to make herself look smarter. For a while she used to wear leather, spandex, latex, in the colors of Anachry and wear her hair in pigtails. That was before she met him, but to be fair, she didn't get forced into this life. She jumped and leaped into it --- much like she used as a gymnast. She literally got on her knees and begged for the Joker's case. All gone now. Only one thing remains, the same blue eyes on him.
That man remained solid and rigid, seeming oblivious to the current state around them. It was like a noxious blur, surreal in it's view and seeming as though they were underwater or clouded in smoke. And yet he, he was so clear currently. His shoulders causing a hunch as he would sit at that table and lock that stoic look upon her. His same hawkish appearance as though he was unsure of what to say to her. That tongue seemed to dare to divulge past lips and rake at the drying tiers before slapping them together in a lazy way and finally drawing his seat up and staring at Harley. He'd speak to her finally, his voice croaking out in that to Harley no doubt, soothing tone. "You know. I'm going to ruin your life. We're already doing a good job together. Or are we? Remember when we first came here? I thought you were another bubble headed doctor. I hated you. And you didn't hate me." He'd right himself and bring his palms together, looking more civilized but refusing to neglect that disturbing smile of his. There was an almost twinkle in those sunken eyes of his, finding his voice again as he crooned to her. His doctor. His little bomb. "You had every reason in the world didn't you? But you hated something much more. Gotham. And because of that, you loved me for what I could do to it. Selfish, self serving. It's your fault deep down everything's happened the way it has. Who knows, Arkham, he coulda cured me. Would you wait for me Harley?" That image regressed, as he'd again draw himself forward, almost sinking to the table and giving a plastered smirk to her so she'd know despite how heavy his words, he was as always making light of everything.
She coiled in almost, not scared more or less shocked. She looked around, her head and neck jerking around on what seem to boarderline frantic movements, she looked to her left and to her right. Looking for another doctor, looking for a guard. They were never alone right? She felt the fear in the pit of her stomach, she felt herself brace for the beating he'd get for escaping agian. Her back had been curved like a scared puppy's cowarding in the corner, her muscle only easing when he spoke to her. Her features giving away her thoughts, she was confused, confused when he confessed that he was going to ruin her life. She had to strain to remember the old days. Remember how life was before she began Harley, remember what life was like behind her mask. Her eyes squinted, but she wasn't looking at him. She was looking at her own hands, they seemed different now. They seemed weak and fragile, it was hard to believe that she killed people with them so effortlessly. Head shaking she disagreed with him, "I did hate you, at first.", she lied. Her head coming up to meet his glaze on her. Her face seemed almost as pale as his, her lips where the worst. Simply because they'd always been colorful; red, pink, black. Now they where chapped and white, "I'll always wait for you." And that was the truth.
He'd squint abit at her, before pushing the chair back and causing a loud screech across the metal floor. Fictional guards in their fictional hallways bore no witness to him moving to stride atop the table and stand upon it. Bare feet against the cool metal of the table, before he'd step across the small divide and dare to hunch down into a squat. His arms crossed over his legs, and he'd rock abit in his posture while talking to her rather bemused of the whole situation. "You'd wait for me? No matter the odds. Let's face facts here, this relationship is doomed from the start. I mean what's the over under on a pair of nut bags actually trying to get this to work?" Stepping off the table, he'd swing his foot out and fall forward before literally going through the floor and vanishing. The sound of something seeming to implode under itself, until he was sitting next to her. Appearing much more tired than he was, he'd give her a drowsy look before flashing a grin. "But look on the bright side, you've always seemed to have a death wish. And now you're going to prove you got the guts to do it. Unless of course.. you do the smart thing. Harley, you know what you need to do right?" He drew closer, or whatever he was. That voice, the way he spoke, everything seemed exactly like The Joker, but these words, this whole zone they were in just seemed unnatural. "Right?"
She continued to watch, continued to listen, but she couldn't bring herself to get close to him. Something was off , something wasn't right. To her, he didn't seem like Joker, he never used words like relationship, no the words he used were; his and mine, relationship meant they were equal. One thing Harley always knew, they weren't equal, as long as she stayed submissive, like a good little pet then he'd keep her. But the questions those rocked her, "No matter the odds." She looked hurt when he said they were doomed from the start, her arms curling around herself as she tried to pull her feet from the floor and place on chair with her"You don't know that Puddin." She shook her head once more, and her eyes snapped shut, trying to block him out, this wasn't him. She'd convinced herself this wasn't him. He promised he'd never leave her, and if he did, he was taking her with him. That bare lip was now embedded with teeth as she hissed out, her deathwish, she embraced it. She had been aware of it for so long, but somewhere along the way, she forgot it. "The right thing? What's the right thing? The smart thing? What's the smart thing?" She knew what it was to her, she had to break them out of Arkham, this place, it was cancerious. This place would break them apart. The voices, the voices in her head where coming back. Leland, with her concerned tone. Harleen, with her flawless speech pattern. And then Batman. Always Batman with his almost mocking tone, funny since when he spoke he was emotionless.
He'd give a chuckle before suddenly drawing in Harley close. His arms moving around to grasp her shoulders and haul that prize in. Petting her hair back, alil too soothing, alil too perfect, Joker would slowly push out that pointer and middle finger before thumb cocked back. The symbol of a gun being created, before he'd talk to her oh so quietly. "You've gotta take me out, before I take you out. Yes ma'am. And if I'm dead, you can keep me all to your little perfect self. And we'll be together.. forever." He'd draw his fingers up and slowly give her one sad smile before mouth of his was forced open. That hand dug it's way past his teeth and he'd give her a knowing wink. And like that a spark of light and the clown's inner brain matter painted the wall behind him. A viscious spray going against the dingy and old surface while he slumped over. But the strangest thing was the laughter. The laughter that continued to spiral wildly as though it was looking to consume the entire room, the world. His cackle was filled with glee. And the whole world spin faster and faster, before the light of that dank room's single source grew brighter, and brighter. All encompassing her.
And then there was only the pendelum, swinging back and forth. The steady twirl of the single object as it waved to and fro in Harley's voice, and a voice. Thick and laced with a foreign accent. Those words however became abundantly clear as Harley was talked about as though she wasn't in the room. "Yes. Yes. I have seen stranger cases than this. But I assure you Arkham. Given enough time I can be one hundred percent sure I will be able to cure her of this.. obsession. I will take her, and the one John Doe, under my special care."
[ ark ii or iii depending on the day and what we want to call it was my favorite. ]