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26 May 2009 @ 11:22 pm
Gotham Idol Round 1-Ragcat-Fic-"Gotham Boys"  
Title: "Gotham Boys"
Author: Ragcat
Disclaimer:I do not own Batman or Joker or DC Comics or Nolanverse anything, no profit for me
Warnings: Just some language in this one.
Summary: The Joker has escaped from Arkham with one thing on his mind, but he's a little under the weather.

Chapter 2: http://community.livejournal.com/batmanjoker/440441.html
Chapter 3: http://community.livejournal.com/batmanjoker/449946.html
Chapter 4: http://community.livejournal.com/batmanjoker/454377.html
Chapter 5: http://community.livejournal.com/batmanjoker/462685.html
Chapter 6: http://community.livejournal.com/batmanjoker/466181.html?view=4168709#t4168709

Mentally, the Joker was ready for action. Oh, yeah, his stint in Arkham had been too long. Too long, too boring, and too damn depressing. There was no way could he wait another minute for something exciting to happen. He missed his Bat, and he missed his mind--he felt like the Arkham pill jockeys had sent it off on a long vacation somewhere nice, but without leaving a forwarding address--and enough was enough. When the opportunity came, you better believe he seized it.

Although, to be honest, being laid up in the infirmary had been a welcome change of pace. There were windows! And sharp things....

But, no action.

Well, other than the fun of stabbing the hypodermic loaded with his sedative into the lone orderly's neck when he came to give him his sponge bath. It was regrettable--the Joker reeeally liked his sponge baths--but he'd been hazily observing the situation ever since he regained consciousness and he knew--that was the golden moment. One hand was free, the orderly was too slow and too stupid to realize what was happening, and it was all over in a split second. Yeah, that dose would stop a normal-sized horse, although, for him it was just a nice buzz--but for the stooge with the tray and washcloths? It put him in la-la-land before he could punch the red "fuck, I'm in trouble" button on the intercom. Hilarious.

He absently ran his bare fingers over the swollen needle marks on his arm--he'd gotten excited and jerked the freakin' IVs out too quick--and now his skin was bruised and irritated. Same story on his wrists and ankles, but for different reasons--goddamn straps they used to hold him down rubbed him raw every time he had a coughing fit, which was only ALL THE FUCKING TIME--they said it was pneumonia.

The illness had taken its toll, that was for sure. He felt like crap. Cheap Arkham doctors, what'd they do, troll veterinary schools for drop-outs? Physically, he was barely a step above the walking dead, but his mind was buzzing as usual.

It had been pathetically easy; he'd lifted the keys from the idiot's belt, unlocked the grate on a window, scrambled outside, and scuttled along out of range of the security cams to the gate where the employees parked; he'd used the guy's keycard, and voila! Freedom.

It would have been perfect, except this particular doofus didn't own a car, so he'd had to hoof it down to the Narrows--slowly, painfully, he was terribly out of shape and not breathing so good--but here he was, and now it was time to move forward. Although, he was a little tired. And drowsy. Maybe he should find a safe place to crash for a bit....

He stifled a deep cough and fiddled with the lock on the window of an old warehouse. Shit, did he have a fever? It was cold and rainy, and he was clad only in his Arkham whites. He'd have to wait until he felt better and was suitably armed before returning to retrieve his own clothing from the asylum storeroom. He disregarded the chill, although it occurred to him that people actually died from pneumonia, and here he was, just asking for a relapse--a wracking cough forced its way up from his lungs.

Damn it. He didn't like being sick. And, what a crummy way to die, drowning in your own fluids....

He popped the lock open and crawled inside; it was a long-abandoned building on the waterfront and there was nothing inside except some frozen old machinery, empty boxes, and the smell of rust and stale motor oil. He didn't care, all he wanted was a place to hole up while he figured things out. He wanted the Bat. He wanted his Bat and he wanted him now, but in his current condition he knew he couldn't attract his attention. Batman was attracted to chaos, and the Joker couldn't drum up a crowd at a hanging the way he felt now.

Although, the groundwork had been laid. If he could just remember where he'd left the damn detonator....

Too much inactivity for too long. He had to gather his strength. Enough strength to find some action, which this place definitely DIDN'T HAVE ANY OF, but that was ok. For now.

The Joker made a makeshift bed of some flattened cardboard and old newspapers he found in a corner. He rested his head on his arm and drifted off.

His body would be out of commission for a little while longer; but his dreams took him high above the city, flying over rooftops, dropping into alleys, running, running, chasing and being chased, always the Bat, always a step ahead or a step behind, it didn't matter as long as they were together, or nearly so, as long as HE was thinking about him, his enemy, that was good enough, good enough for now, good enough to keep him going until....

Until the Bat was ready for some real action.
Current Location: USA
Current Mood: curiouscurious
Current Music: Patti Smith
habitual line stepperglasg0wsmile on May 27th, 2009 08:42 am (UTC)
Well, this is off to a really good start. It contains some eerie real life qualities that make me want Joker to get all better. I get a pretty good sense of those painful coughs that makes you wince and grip tightly at your chest. Ouch. Illness paired with Joker's personality can be humorous sometimes. He takes things in stride in a way that no one else does.

Maybe Batman could bring him some chicken soup. I know that probably won't happen in this story, if it even has any further chapters, but it's a fun thing to think about. Batman waiting on the Joker while he rings a little bell or something and makes him fluff his pillows and all that.
ragcatragcat on May 27th, 2009 01:04 pm (UTC)
Thank you so much,ha ha!! I do have some plans for continuing this for the GI prompts, we'll see what happens!
fear and desireoutcastspice on May 27th, 2009 10:49 am (UTC)
aaw, poor sick joker!! this is a wonderful setup, and very well written. yay! :)
ragcatragcat on May 27th, 2009 01:06 pm (UTC)
Thank you, more to come! I know, his poor little clownie-self all feverish, awww....
jokerluv on May 29th, 2009 09:28 pm (UTC)
I LOVE the idea that NOTHING will stop him from getting to his Bat, even a cold. It's funny how he never see the "human" side to him, and this is off a to a FANTASTIC start. Hope there is more!
ragcatragcat on May 30th, 2009 05:48 am (UTC)
Thank you!! I mean to have this follow the Gotham Idol prompts if possible, or if not, then it will be a story on its own. Yeah, I would think Arkham would be rife with germs....
elizabeth_elf on May 30th, 2009 05:52 am (UTC)
A nice reminder that even the almost superhuman Joker gets sick too. Poor man, I know all too well the horrible, wracking coughs you described. A great start, I can't wait to see where you take this.


ragcatragcat on May 30th, 2009 06:00 am (UTC)
Yes, it only takes one bout of pneumonia and you never forget how that cough feels! Thank you for commenting, there is more to come....