A Three Jokers Orgin story. So there's been a lot of Joker in the news lately. Lots of debate about giving him an origin story. Should he have one? Should it be multiple choice? Should it be a mystery? Well I'm curious by nature. I love the origin s...
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His pale fingers lightly swirl my chest hairs into Alfalfa sprouts. My right arm holds him and I can feel the rise and fall of his breath through his ribcage, which my own fingers were tracing. My eyes take in that bright green hair. It's funny what a beautiful color the accidental mixture of chemicals had made. Even stranger still, was the fact that his skin lost it's pigmentation completely, essentially turning him into an albino, but that head of hair was full of color. In theory, it should have been turned white as well. But I was actually fond of the green.
But, perhaps the strangest thing of all, is the fact that I feel so perfectly at ease with this crazed killer in my arms. I let a man, who some say is worse than the devil himself, take my body. Not once, not twice, but three times, right here in my very own bed in Wayne Manor. I just couldn't get enough of him. Joker the criminal and Joker the lover were at the furthermost points of the spectrum from one another. I never knew that he could possess those mannerisms. He was so tender and gentle and caring. He was considerate and sensual. He was loving. He wasn't the Joker in the bedroom, he was Jack.
The criminal underworld feared me, but they were terrified of him. And they were right to. I should have been terrified of him too, but I never have been. Maybe I could just always see more than a monster when I looked at him. Maybe I'm the only one who gets to see a glimpse of Jack Napier. Maybe that's because I'm the only one who he lets see him. The only other people to have known the Joker when he was Jack was a hand full of his henchmen from his Red Hood days. They were fiercely loyal to him as well, so it was safe to say that they feared him too.
The Joker's head raises and looks up at me. I watch as his eyes scan the contours of my face. He reclines his weight up on his elbows and gets a better look at me. His index finger slowly runs down the bridge of my nose. "I must say Bruce, I kinda like this private therapy medicine you practice. It's quite effective. I don't feel one ounce of aggression. Normally it's the fuel to my fire, the director of my actions. Right here, right now, it's like being on a comfortable level of Thorazine."
I smirk, "Glad to help." I had no clue what Thorazine felt like, but if this was it, I'm glad I produced it for him.
"Sooo," he purred, "Will you be putting Jack In The Box again?"
I knew he was referring to his glass cell in my batcave. I admired that he knew he would have to go back into it. But I wasn't ready for him to go yet. I reach up and stroke his cheek, "Oh, I don't know, I was kind of hoping to maybe switch out and have another round," I suggestively quirk an eyebrow at him.
His eyes widen and the small smile on his face faded. Then his eyes slowly drift away from me and stare out over my room blankly. Had I said something wrong? Why did his mood suddenly change? It was as if he was fighting the Joker to keep him locked away. Is it my fault?
