#jokethur

[bittwitchy]

you're awful.

[chloromanci]

i didn't mean to be here. suddenly i just was.

Plants keep secrets if you had nowhere else to go. It’s one of those things Daniel learned young, a boy with nothing and no one, a boy cast out by the people meant to love him. Plants also follow the same life cycle we do, bloom and decay, birth and rot, and they go back to the earth just the same as we do. Not enough people get that, Daniel thinks. It’s easier to relax under cover of green. He wouldn’t be surprised if all this life drew Joker in even unintentionally. That’s how it always goes.

Camellia’s sat on the high stool behind the store counter sorting rocks. How she’s sorting them, who’s to say, but it looks to be maybe by size. The humidity in the air has her hair more frizzy than curly, little brown ringlets coiled at her temples and at the nape of her neck. She says nothing to her latest customer when the door jingles. Bad service already.

“Little early for philosophizing.” Daniel speaks from Joker’s right where he’s rehanging a wind chime by the front window. It’s comprised of chunks of seaglass strung together by twine and would throw fractals of bluegreen against the walls if the light outside wasn't so bleak. Joker ought to watch his step unless he wants to wade through a tipped over bag of fertilizer with those fancy shoes of his. Daniel grins knowingly. “What? Don’t like flowers?”

🌱 WATCH. (for @jokethur)

[halcyen]

Once he'd merged with the yellow glow of lamp light, sat on her couch with his head hunkered low between his shoulders. She'd only first seen him when he'd moved — when she'd disturbed him. He'd turned to her then, rivers flown down his cheeks, and his eyes slipped straight back into his skull. He'd turned to her and she could have sworn she'd witnessed him sinking. In nothing but thin air.

Now @jokethur commands the light. It bounces off the sleeve of that cherry red suit jacket he shoulder probably hang over a chair if he wants for it to dry even just a little before he leaves. There's not much to be salvaged in the time it takes to drink a mug of tea, though. Two hot drinks steam in her hands when she turns out of the kitchenette and heads toward the coffee table in front of the couch. It's fit for two, just the same as the small dining table —it's scattered with paper's from her night schooling, she and Gigi had eaten their dinner on the couch just a couple of hours before now.

The girl sleeps down the hall. She'd sleep through a hurricane, and judging by the deep dark peeling in through the window, and the sheet rain which scrapes against the glass in a way that reminds her of long, dragging talons, her daughter just might. 

The noise from 8J was somehow louder than the violent weather outside. The clatter of the long-abandoned apartment's front door had not been Arthur, but neighbour opposite almost thrusting his leg heel-first through the wood. Were it not permanently unlocked, it seems, he might've gone straight through on his hunt for the presumed murder tourist he'd witness slip his way inside. Some residents of the apartement block on Anderson Avenue have taken to tossing Joker fans out onto the street themselves, since gaining further security isn't an option. Sophie, however, just keeps the door to 8B locked. Until tonight.

She'd stepped out into the hall to witness her neighbour with a revolver shaking in his hand, taking broad steps back away 8J's previous occupant. She'd given him an excuse to flee back into his apartement just by playing audience alone.

" He really wasn't going to shoot you. " She says with a reticent, if unnerved laugh snared at the back of her throat. It helps her now to cut the quietude in two, even while Arthur's attention has drifted to the papers plastering the small square dining table by the window. " He wasn't even going to shoot the... dumb kid he thought you were. Doug's all talk. " Arthur's tea meets the coffee tale at the end closest to him across the room. She cups her own between two hands and throws her brows north, as if he can see the expression while facing away. " Usually works, though... You gonna be okay? "

He shouldn't be here. He shouldn't ever be here. There's nothing left in this building for him but further poison, and so Sophie knocks her head to one side, asks with delicacy. " I can... call someone... if you're not? "

[banschivs]

'CAUTION: MUSEUM HAS SOME HAUNTED CLOWNS. ARE YOU STILL WANT TO ENTER?' That misspelled sign out front likely reminds @jokethur of the tattoo adorning her throat. Ronald McDonald watches them with a leer so still that it even unnerves her. She side-eyes that life-sized yellow-pantalooned clown as she wraps her arms around her own from behind. Nix's breast lands against her husband's back, and she's careful to avoid the peak of his bad shoulder as she leans forward to press a kiss to his cheek. 

The sun falls upon them unbroken by any cloud once again, yet the air still carries late winter's bite with it. The gelid sough climbs across the abandoned cemetery on the other side of the street, scalping some faint song from the mountains and the long-turned soil. It kisses her cheeks and begets a subtle shiver up her spine. For that, Nix only nuzzles closer, deeper into her husband's hair. 

On a landscape so ostensibly barren, The World Famous Clown Motel and museum seems to jut up as if from nothing. She takes a deep breath of bitter air, and inhales the amber and citrusy scent emanating from Arthur's cologne. She practically vibrates behind him on the lantern-adorned deck.

" Well? " A giggle grazes the shell of Arthur's ear. When next the wind carries faint grains of sand and dust with it, it sifts through his green hair. Wispy, tendrillar strands softly tickle her nose, which wrinkles when next she snickers. " Are you still want to enter, Bud? " That girlish tease is punctuated by her teeth nibbling the lobe of his ear.

[batgeance]

❛ don’t you ever just say hello? ❜

Up  this  high,    it  almost  doesn’t  smell  like  the  bags  of  shit  and  waste  strewn  across  the  streets.    Almost,    except  for  that  smoky  haze  ringing  the  skylights  raised  above  the  city  in  all  their  masted  glory.    A  facade.    Vengeance,    too,    wears  the  front�� of  vigilance  and  blinks  around  the  kohl  that  wets  his  lashes.    He  blinks  again  to  keep  it  out  of  his  sclera;    it  burns  to  fight  that  onslaught  just  as  any  other,    but  does  the  trick  for  now.    Those  high  -  tech  lenses  register  Joker  before  the  Batman  does  by  milliseconds  and  save  the  footage  of  his  chewed  off  humor.    Bruce  doesn’t  share  in  the  joke.

❝    Did  you  fire  a  gun  during  Dent’s  press  conference?    ❞  That’s  a  rhetorical  question.    Batman’s  rasp  bleeds  through  and  overpowers  any  semblance  of  concern  Bruce  might  have  tried  for.    Regardless,    he  isn’t  happy.    The  smog  up  here  provides  coverage  that  Vengeance  does  not  leverage  for  once.    Joker  has  a  clear  view  of  his  upset  even  with  the  mask.    Those  ringed  eyes  are  eerily  milky  with  frustration.    ❝    Why?    ❞

— @jokethur // TBM22.

[felinives]

you could've given me a heads up.

Gotham’s long lost prince makes no attempt at intimidating her though she holds hostage the pack of cigarettes she’d nipped from one of his pockets. Selina inspects the box like it actually interests her but it’s all an act and not even for him. There’s a man laid prone at their feet and she is choosing to ignore him for now. Maybe taking one of Joker’s vices was the wrong move but she sticks to conviction. He isn’t snarling at her yet in spite of her insurance.

“I could have,” she agrees. Selina lowers the cigarettes to her side. Her knuckles have turned white yet the box does not crumble in her hand. When the man between them twitches, she wrinkles her nose at Joker as if to say, Hello? Do something about that! “When I was trying not to get caught, I didn’t exactly plan to bump into you on my way out.”

She has a thick wad of cash stuffed into her waistband and it would have gone unnoticed in the dark. It did not go unnoticed by an early return home from a failed date. Turns out some people around here have taste but the off duty pig knocked out on the ground now was still lucky enough to make it to the restaurant. So maybe no taste at all really. It just made this job more difficult.

Selina wiggles the cigarette carton in Joker’s direction. But she also takes a step back. “Was it him that offended you or that I drew him out here and I interrupted your walk? Your answer’ll get you these back.” She could assess a less dangerous threat but she figures speed is on her side if nothing else. She hazards another step in retreat just in case though.

☾ CAN WE TALK ABOUT WHAT HAPPENED?

[jesytr]

“   Everything I want to do is illegal. ”

her apartment hadn't been set up for guests as it looked like a tornado had spat out clothes, paintings, and children's toys. all of which littered and filled up any available space. though the couch was roomy enough. and the patio door was left wide open to allow the hot breeze to cool off the complex. she'd blame it on the air conditioner not working, but truthfully she just didn't pay her bills yet.

a boisterous remark sounds from the spitting image of Harley's youngest, " mama - what does illegal mean ?? " she sets her big round baby blues on arthur, wiping her head to stare, but her mother just chuckles. at the curiosity of a six year old. placing a plastic chew toy that faintly smells after being bitten into several times over and telling her daughter to go get Buddy. she races out of the room to go find the deported hyena. yelling his name when she was out of sight. she had been accustomed to pets while she was just a baby - even the more exotic one's. they were as much Lucy's as they were Harley's. Though they seemed to favor Lucy after she was born.

" she's very smart. " she started in. brushing back her long disheveled blonde mess of hair behind her ears and eying the small hyena that entered the room. becoming hyper fixed at the wolf dog at Arthur's heels. sniffing and wagging his tail in greeting. though his only companion having been just humans thus far, " she gets that kinda special attention at school. . . though I been pushin' for a tutor. someone that could keep up with her. . . " she paused. searching and when she found it she said so, " talents. She's a few grades above her peers her age. "

she turned to frowning. her eyes looking all kinds of tired and scared and sad, overthinking before saying, " a doc told us she got some PTSD. from her father. still in her crib when a thug down 5th found out where Jack lived. left bullet holes in the ceilin'. she didn't get hurt, but doc said she'd need therapy. "

Abruptly her fingers started shaking and her hands came up to wipe away tears in her eyes as they stained her cheeks and rolled down in black mascara, " I ain't sure about it yet, but I'm thinkin' o' sendin' her to my sister's for awhile. think she'd be safer in a better place. it ain't right keepin' her here. "

she smeared her makeup with the back of her palm before pulling her daughter's attention back to her. though she was rough housing with bud. squealing away as the hyena slobbered into her hand, " go grab the ice cream from the fridge would ya'? the mint kind. In the back. "

[queenwolf]

❝ Fear could make a believer of anybody. ❞

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ—ㅤA STUDY IN DROWNING. (accepting!)

Dr.    Scott  McCall  manages  to  exude  all  the  warmth  of  a  summer  day  in  both  scrubs  and  a  white  lab  coat,    even  somehow  a  sharp  contrast  to  the  cold  outside.    The  cat  he  is  trying  to  coax  into  complacency  in  its  crate  on  the  floor  of  his  office  is  none  too  pleased  with  the  setting  and  Allison  is  amused  beyond  reason  that  there  is  an  animal  alive  distrusting  of  Scott.    He  is  valiant  in  his  patience,    but  the  cat  isn’t  having  it  yet.

Allison  leans  against  the  reception  counter  beside  @jokethur.    The  receptionist,    Katie,    is  on  her  lunch,    so  it’s  lucky  that  Scott  was  expecting  his  own  delivery  from  Allison  and  met  them  in  the  front.    She’s  still  got  the  takeaway  bag  tucked  beneath  her  arm  to  shield  from  the  puddles  outside;    her  over  -  the  -  knee  Weitzman  boots  are  splattered  with  mud,    but  at  least  the  food  is  safe.    Scott  had  flashed  moon  -  grateful  eyes  at  her  as  soon  as  the  door  had  opened  and  hadn’t  lost  that  expression  even  now  that  he  crouches  down  to  speak  softly  to  his  unimpressed  patient.

❝    Talking  about  him?    ❞  Allison  inclines  her  head  toward  the  very  unhappy  cat  on  the  ground.    She’s  smiling,    genuine  and  comfortable  without  unwelcome  eyes  on  her.    Outside,    she  and  Joker  had  probably  gathered  a  crowd.    In  here,    at  least  there’s  the  facade  of  safety.    Allison  knocks  her  elbow  against  Joker’s  next  to  her.    ❝    Or  you?    ❞

[arkhampsych]

i've told you this before but your dash icon on the damn horse is so wicked i love it.

thank you haha. I love it. at some point I’m going to figure out how to incorporate more aesthetically spooky/scarecrow motifs into my blog, but for now the little horse does the trick.

[bittwitchy]

CS: Samara Weaving and Robert Pattinson.

[taitropa]

if you act like a thief, i'll treat you like one.

When she makes a sound, it is because she wants to be heard. Gotham is perfectly suited to her because its bowels treat her as a friend. If she slips through the streets, those shadows bend to her every step until they grow into her seams and edges. She attracts that darkness so easily. The Wraith, they call her, because she is nothing more than smoke. Inej slides through fingers just the same. A slip of a girl, a slip of a ghost. She is only as useful as the abilities of her body. At least in this way, she built this image for herself. No one forced it on her.

“Stupid games.” Inej’s voice barely rises over the noise of the Crow Club. It is a busy night. No one prays on Sundays in Gotham except to the god of greed. She knows Joker is not here to gamble, but Kaz is otherwise occupied upstairs in his office. She wonders if he knows he has a guest. Does he have a guest? The natural purpose for visiting the Club is not present. It would not match what she knows already about Joker’s comings and goings. This is not his usual haunt.

Inej extends her arm. In her fingers, Joker’s iPhone as offering. “Stupid prizes.” She nudges her chin. Over his shoulder, a waitress slips a wallet from a customer’s pocket as she passes his table. She can’t be older than thirteen, but the man is too drunk to notice anything but his losing hand. “I’m not sure how she got around your dog. For that feat alone, perhaps you will stay her punishment. We all do what we must to survive.”

🔪 YELLOWSTONE PROMPTS.

[halcyen]

The little ivory envelope sits unchallenged between them and their coffee cups. Sophie's been cradling hers in one hand like it's her purse, her fingers bent tight, her trimmed nails clinked against the China. Her attention's been dancing from @jokethur to the counter. In front of which waits Gigi, her head titled up as if she can see how the barista makes her Italian hot chocolate. Casa Espresso also offers chocolate croissants, which the little girl waits for with as much patience as if she were starving. To Gigi's credit, it's a rare treat. She'd thrust the dollar bills across the counter while practically bouncing.

" ...I-It's not late, is it? " Sophie's eyes are perhaps wider than she'd like when turned to face Arthur across their table. The black leather corner booth beneath gilded sconces makes for a fashionable scene setting. Makes her think that for a moment she's somewhere less affordable. Truth is, that there's an ease here... or there would be had the lone gentleman two tables away not looked her in the eye on more than one needless occasion. Another waft of her attention over to her daughter. She masks sleeplessness and paranoia with a smile and reticent laugh, " Gigi signed it herself. " The festive card enveloped between them. " Insisted on it. "

Sophie lifts her brewed coffee to distract herself from glancing out the window and onto the street. From the corner of her eye, she's recognized the same red coat walking past twice already. She counts strangers these days. Has to. 

" It's the... " Squints to match the cant of her head, " Seventh, right? " An ostensibly proud smile tugs at her pursed lips, " So, it's not late. "

[batfall-a]

you always do that when you’re nervous. / @jokethur

DO I ? the question doesn't fall from lips instead what stirs is the small inkling of a smile , HIS BROTHER does indeed know him well.

their interactions had been brief , CAREFULLY thought out - they truly couldn't be within one another's presence it was too dangerous but ? he had missed his brother , the loneliness had gotten quite isolating - worries that if he allows that to settle that he'll settle within his own thoughts and ebb away , like the settling of sea foam on shoreline.

he envies his brother's openness , EMBRACING who he is as he walked throughout life with the knowledge that there was nothing to hide. bruce has seriously thought about dropping the mask letting all of gotham know ... though that remains nothing more than a dream.

there's the low hum of ENGINE as they leave gotham and make their way to an unknown location. the knowledge that his brother's time wasn't as free as his own , a father of a newborn and two other children , bruce's nieces and nephew.

' yeah ... i guess that's something that'll never change ' what one can see now is the appearance of cowl makeup nothing more - BATMOBILE safe , he had ensured that much. his suit a movements away if needed.

the batcave that they're heading to is embedded within the side of a mountain , overlooking a small stream that runs through the woods. the first of FIVE that would inevitably be created.

his fingers then move through hair , a nervous habit in which arthur had commented on mere seconds before. ' you don't miss a thing do you? ' cheeks pull upwards as grey eyes soften , the ease of a smile settles. makeup spreading even more as coal rounded eyes widen features. ' just used to being hunted ... ' words soft , though there is no need for them to be secretive with words , the bat-mobile safe.

' figured we were safe ' he casts a look over to arthur , ' how was paskha ? ' his wording awkward with a language he didn't know but his attempt is made out of love , ' what did you guys do ? how were my nieces and nephew ? ' care taken.

[banschivs]

Dry ice pervades as a thinning veil across the space. The 'new and improved' Iceberg Lounge boasts a crowd large enough to rival its opening night on New Years. Nix hadn't been present to count that particular zealous throng, but now casts her eyes around a mass of moving bodies filling 'Antarctica, the 'Lounge's largest dancefloor and bar. Above the two of them, a mezzanine adorned with faux stone pillars houses even more onlooking to the prize of the night — not the couple themselves, but the painting hung upon a deep blue arras in one of the Lounge's many icy nooks. A frosted obelisk has been removed to allow for a clear view.

No one could possibly get within ten steps of  Thomas Gainsborough's 'The Blue Boy' but the Wayne couple still technically in possession of it. The generous donation made by Thomas' heir and his wife to further the education and preservation of the arts in Gotham is more than enough cause for celebration. Or so the generous benefactors of the evening tell them.

Nix has locked eyes with Jacob Kane too many times already since he'd manufactured her solo entrance into the function. 'Characteristic' of the opulent venue's esteemed owner, apparently. She, however, still feels the nettles tangled around her insides. They'd woven their way around her organs the moment she began looking for Arthur amongst the crowd. No doubt the many media outlets both photographing and filming the event took zealous note of Mrs. Wayne's angst upon entering, unable to abandon her husband's side and attention for any longer than a second. The Court will snuff those stories, but she knows that behind certain eyes they are still being written.

In spite of that, her arms have been wound around @jokethur's waist since they settled close to the glossed bar. Purple and blue lights cavort above their heads, thrown as reflections against the bar's surface, manufactured to look as if it were carved from ice alone, just like the rest of the ground floor. That stone mezzanine above provides more shelter than they're granted here, and further shade, too. Her wide eyes lift to see if there's a spare table for them to seat themselves and view the mess from above, but thus far her endeavour's proven fruitless. She tightens the noose of her arms around her husband's waist and ducks her head to lay a kiss to his temple. It's not enough.

Her gifted Valentino gown leaves little to the imagination, but she's all but sewn into it. Nix has been seen to prefer the low-calorie cocktails by more than one outlet yet again, though such is solely to avoid any further whispers should she bloat enough to encourage the rumour mill. Arthur sits beneath his paint, as he oft is wont to do. It doesn't stop her from nuzzling the side of his face.

" ...Are you okay? " Her murmur's slight enough to put off any lip-readers in the crowd. She's partially hidden behind a swathe of volumized blonde hair extensions, anyway. Her eyes flash to the painting once more, still being ogled by those who have no hope of seeing any closer than they currently do. Four of Oswald's personal entourage flank the piece and scan the crowd for anyone they don't like. Nix accentuates her pout so that he might guess she's teasing as she asks, " Want me to throw my drink over it? " Her Jōkā may even do some damage. The thought tugs a smile from her. Her teeth press the apex of his cheek. " They'll let me close enough. "

[batgeance]

for real how often does bruce recreate the "i'm a wittle baby. i'm just a baby, i don't have any money!" tiktok on arthur while they're out.

bruce with his hands in his pockets, shrugging his shoulders when the bill comes around, just. don't look at me i'm just a baby!

[vexcountess]

if you lose power, light a crayon and it'll burn for 30 minutes.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ—ㅤTHE SHAME ( accepting! )

New  Jersey  reminds  her  little  of  London  and  even  less  of  India;    that  is  to  say,    there  is  nothing  of  home  to  speak  of  when  Kate  walks  the  streets  of  Gotham.    It’s  the  beginning  of  winter  here  in  America,    just  like  London,    but  this  weather  is  not  mild  in  the  least  and  replaces  a  pretty  white  holiday  season  with  torrential  downpour.    Kate  grips  the  collar  of  her  coat  around  her  throat  as  if  to  combat  a  wet  chill  at  her  neck,    though  she  accompanies  Joker  indoors  now.

❝    Did  you  learn  that  trick  on  accident  or  by  necessity?    ❞  Surrey  stretches  her  vowels  long.    She  is  every  bit  the  outsider  here,    and  yet  despite  her  trembling  fingers  and  her  wool  coat  still  buttoned  all  the  way  up  to  her  throat,    Kate  manages  an  air  of  authority.    What  remained  of  suspicion  in  her  gaze  does  not  dim,    but  welcomes  an  added  measure  of  amusement.    She  smiles.    ❝    I  learned  the  cling  film  method.    My  first  real  winter,    I  was  in  for  a  shock  when  I  couldn’t  simply  wear  a  coat  and  be  warm.    ❞

Kate  redirects  her  attention.    The  little  waif  of  a  girl  who  shadows  her  father  with  fearless  familiarity  demands  nothing  else.    She  and  @jokethur  can  do  little  else  but  reject  the  shadows  that  Kate  had  previously  been  doubting.    ❝    I  thought  you  might  warn  me  to  take  care  with  fire.    Or  does  she  have  an  affinity  for  pyrokinetics I should know about?    ❞