❝ Biscuit, Mr. Joker? ❞
❝ Nah, I'd rather take a bite outta you ❞
in which an aspiring journalist catches the attention of two of the most powerful men in gotham - the joker and the batman.
[ the dark night | joker x oc x bruce wayne ]
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"You stupid little bïtch!"
Knives clattered to an uneasy stop. Glasses hung mid-air as men around the grand table shifted in their seats, one command away from springing into action. When Big Marino only growled more profanities under his breath as he tried to get rid of the stain on his suit, the men resumed their conversations.
17-year-old Stephanie stood stock still, rosy cheeks a ghostly white as she tried drawing as little attention to herself as possible. She had just committed a grave mistake; she approached Big Marino's without addressing him first. He had jumped right out of his chair at her quiet entrance and slapped the cup of hot tea out of her hands, thinking it was a gun.
Big Maroni was very paranoid, and Stephanie had just caused a scene by being too quiet.
Her wavy caramel locks created a curtain as she bent down to pick the broken China pieces off the floor, fingers trembling with each second that passed.
"You clumsy and lazy excuse of a girl," said Luigi Maroni, looking down at her timid figure in disdain. "You're every bit like your cowardly father."
Luigi kicked the China pieces out of her hands and sent them flying. Her hand throbbed, an intense pain. She felt herself stop breathing as she tried to control her whimper, not letting Big Maroni see the tears spring into her eyes.
"You good for nothing, lousy—"
"Dad," said Sal Maroni quietly, "You don't need to do that. Steph's shakin' like a leaf."
Big Maroni looked up and stared at his only son across the table.
Silence.
No one interrupted Luigi Maroni. Not even his own son.
At thirty-two years of age, Sal Maroni was at his physical prime. His Italian nose settled nicely on his olive-skinned face and accentuated the deep blue eyes that bore into one's soul. Luckily, they were still bright and kind, nothing like the corrosive mud color of his father's eyes that made everyone in the underground ring fearful. Sal had grown out of his skinniness, sporting a sizable six-foot frame with muscles underneath his grey suit that was bigger than the old Marino's, thanks to time spent in the boxing ring and conducting "business".
But even with his height and apparent strength, the man shrunk under his father's cold gaze.
"Did you just interrupt me, boy?"
Sal swallowed his words. "No, sir."
"Good," said Luigi. He turned to his consigliere, his advisor, and spoke in rapid Italian so that Americanized Sal Maroni could not interpret their conversation.
