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...
Four months had passed since the Joker first arrived at Arkham. After several weeks of antipsychotics, Dr. Quinzel was able to persuade Dr. Arkham to give the Joker a chance, and allow him to be in the general population. Dr. Arkham expected casualties the very first day, but the Joker surprisingly behaved. To which he was rewarded daily for his good behavior with pudding cups. A week passed, and not one drop of aggression came from the Joker. Dr. Quinzel painted him as recovering. Though, Dr. Arkham remained skeptical.
The Joker sat on a table top, Indian style, playing cards with a catatonic in a wheelchair.
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"Ok, your bet," the Joker gleefully smiles. He looks down at the chips laying on their lap. "Are you sure? You're running out of chips my friend." The Joker quirks a green eyebrow, which had grown back since the Joker wasn't allowed a razor. And luckily for the nurse on his ward, she didn't have to shave his face like everyone else's. His facial hair no longer grew. "You're sure? Ok then," the Joker sighs and collects the remainder of the chips off their lap as they stared off into space, posed with their cards held up in their hand. "I'll match you and I call," the Joker smiles. He reaches up and pulls their hands down to show him their cards. "See, I told you. You thought you could bluff me didn't you?" The Joker lays down his full house.
"Who's winning?" Comes a curious voice behind the Joker.
He glances over his shoulder and sees Jonathan Crane. "Don't you know I always win?" The Joker smiles.
"You realize that patient is catatonic, right?" Crane smirks.
"Of course I do. I chose him for his poker face. Hahaha!" The Joker laughs and hops off the table. He moves to the sofa and plops down on it in front of the TV.
Crane sits down on the opposite end of it with a sigh. "So, whatever you're planning on an escape, I want in."
"Escape? Why would I escape?" The Joker looks at him. "Look around," he motions. "I get to sit around all day and watch tv. I'm fed three times a day. I get congical visits. And I get pudding every day that I've been a good boy. This place is like heaven," he smiles and rests his hands interlocked behind his head.
"Heaven?" Crane looks at him funny.
"Do you think I watch tv all day on the outside?" The Joker cuts his eyes over at him. "No. I spend my days and nights working. Up day after day, plotting, planning, plundering. Guns. Knives. Explosives. Gas. No no no, it's much more easy going here."
"What the hell do they have you on? A rainbow enema?" Crane furrows his brows.
"Hahaha! That was pretty funny," the Joker laughs. "I'm on a lot of Geodone. Like a lot. And when I ask nicely, the night nurse is kind enough to give me Thorazine for my terrible insomnia. I do love Thorazine, don't you?"
"Not particularly, no," Crane shakes his head.
"Oh, well...to each his own," the Joker shrugs. "So what brings you back to Arkham?"
