AN: Disclaimer! I don't own the Joker... lol I'm putting this disclaimer up because I used a direct quote lol ANYWHO! Hope you all enjoy this chapter :3 please dont forget to R&R 3
Chapter Twenty-Nine: Pretty Girls and Dead Men
My side still stung a bit as it's been nearly a week since my 'lovely' family reunion. I missed Jack so much I nearly left Bruce's penthouse, but Alfred always kept a close eye on me. Alfred was very sweet and attentive to my physical needs. He helped heal the bruises on my face and always re-wrapped my bandages after a shower.
Bruce wouldn't let me leave until I was fully healed. During my 'captivity' Bruce told me he was 'friends' with Batman… He didn't let me question him much about it. He asked if I knew the other woman whom 'Batman' found dead, lying next to me. I told him the truth, what harm could it bring? Brooke was dead and I wanted…to kill my bastard of a father.
He had apologized for my loss and bought me a bouquet of flowers for condolences. They were vibrant and pure perfection and the vase had the name 'Brooke' engraved tastefully in the center. My heart warmed to Bruce after that and I could breathe a little easier around him.
Now that I knew the playboy Bruce was actually the masked vigilante, Batman, I didn't know what to do or how to act around him. Pursing my lips I stared at said vigilante from across the dinner table. Bruce was drinking a cup of coffee, black, while reading Gotham Weekly.
Right on the cover was a picture of The Joker from that odd television interruption from last week. I sighed as I rested my elbows on the table. Bruce looked up from the newspaper, "What's the matter, Scar?"
His voice was gentle and attentive. I shifted in my seat, feeling awkward and out of place in his glorious penthouse.
"When is that… uhm… Dent thing you're hosting?" Bruce was hosting a party for Harvey Dent, Gothams' white knight. I felt like the two of them were playing the pissing contest.
"It's on Saturday, two days from now." Bruce answered nonchalantly.
I fidgeted, picking at my nails, "I have nothing to wear…and I'm not the 'fancy' party girl type…"
Bruce smiled, coyly, "I already picked a dress out for you, along with accessories."
I blinked and rubbed my cheek, with the nearly faded bruise, "Thanks…but I'll stand out like a sore thumb, Bruce. I'm not…"
"Hush, Scar." He shushed from across the table, "I'll make sure you look fantastic."
I let out a breath and ran a hand through my red hair, "It better not be slutty…" I mumbled to myself as he rose to his feet, leaned over and gently nudged my cheek, playfully.
"Don't make such a fuss. You're beautiful and the dress I chose will only showcase that beauty." He smiled warmly at me and my heart skipped a small beat.
"Master Wayne…" Alfred called from the threshold of the dining room. Bruce looked over towards Alfred, "It would seem, the mafia member, Gambol, has been killed."
I gaped at Alfred's news…only one man would kill for me…would actually be searching for me…
"You good, boss?" Ricky whispered as him and two other men carried me, inside a trash bag, through Gambol's estate. I grunted in an affirmative and closed my eyes, my thoughts on my little doll. My breathing slowed and I waited patiently as words were exchanged around me.
The voice of Gambol echoed around the room as I was place, rather roughly on what I imagined was a pool table, due to the freaking balls pressing into my backside. I stayed as still as possible, my gloved fingers stroking my favorite switchblade. The switchblade I had given to my little doll.
The trash bag opened and the smell of cigars and cheap cologne filled my nostrils as I played dead.
"Dead…that's five-hundred…" Gambol said, sounding disappointed.
My lips twitched, stretching my scars as I bolted up and grabbed Gambol by the throat, "How 'bout alive?"
His eyes were wide and I could feel his pulse quickening beneath the leather covering my palm. I squeezed, pressing the blade into his mouth, "Where. Is. My. Doll." I annunciated with a shrill sing-song voice.
Ricky and the others took out Gambol's men in an instant, letting me chat with the idiot.
Gambol shook his head in disarray, "I-I don't know! I left before the Bat…"
My eyes narrowed, "Bat… Bat… do you mean Batman?" I growled pressing my blade into the corner of his mouth. Blood trickled down his jaw.
"After her father roughed her up!" Gambol shouted in pain. "He came and we scattered, swear!"
I tapped his cheek with the back of my other hand, "Shhh… You're telling me that you took my doll…to her daddy?" My voice deepened dangerously as I remembered how Scarlett ended up at Arkham…
Gambol nodded in affirmation.
"You wanna know how I got these scars?" I gave Gambol a slight shake, "My father was, a drinker and a fiend." I hissed, "And one night he goes off crazier than usual. Mommy gets the kitchen knife to defend herself. He doesn't like that not.. one.. bit.. So, me watching…" I gestured to myself. "He takes the knife to her laughing while he does it. He turns to me, eh, and he says, "Why so serious?!" He comes at me with the knife, "Why so serious?!" He sticks the blade in my mouth, "Let's put a smile on that face!" And…" I grinned before giving Gambol a stoic face. "Why so serious?" And with a hard jerk of the wrist, I sliced through Gambols cheek like butter.
His body toppled onto the floor and I wiggled out from the plastic bag, wiping the blood from my switchblade.
"What now, boss?" Ricky asked, not at all shocked by my actions.
"Well, Ricky…" I swung my arm around his shoulders, "I have to find my lost doll…and I think I know just…where…to…look…"
I patted him on the back, "Get in your best party gear boys, we're going to a fancy shindig in honor of our friend Harvey Dent!"
-Two Days Later-
I winced slightly as the personal stylist, Bruce had hired, zipped up the dress from behind. My side still stung a bit and I had felt ill ever since this crazy woman came into the penthouse. She was petite and very rude to me as she styled my hair and dolled me up…
She reminded me of Miss Meaty Hands from back at Arkham. Once she finished she stalked around me like a proud French poodle owner admiring her purebred.
"Done." She said and quickly left the room.
I stared at my manicured fingernails and grimaced.
Jack had always called me 'doll' or 'doll face' and now I felt like an actual doll. I walked towards the vanity in the restroom and stared at my polished self.
I stared at myself in the mirror. My hair was in a fancy up-do and showed off my long neck. That stylist knew how to…style… My face looked flawless and my green eyes looked sultry and smoky. Looking down I noticed my dress.
It was red, floor length and form fitting. It showed off all my curves and had a plunging neckline that made my cheeks flush. It was also sleeveless and left my arms and shoulders bereft. There was a long slit in the dress which allowed a flash of my long legs as well as the black pumps Bruce had bought.
I took in a deep breath, through my blood red painted lips…
Bats sure loved the color red…