a/n: I recently re-read this and was, quite frankly, horrified at some of the grammar (and I know people are upset at my Britishness in certain places. I've gained better control and will snip it out). It's gonna be a long job, but I fully intend to edit a couple of chapters per day, and I'll comment how far I've gotten in case you're new to this or are re-reading so that you know what's safe to go with! As of 12/08/2015, I've edited chapters 1-3. Thanks for all of the support. -fs
Someone was singing. Singing in the sad, desperate way that someone sings when they're incarcerated in a padded cell, in a nuthouse, for, well, being a nutcase. And that's because they were. But not everyone here was.
The Joker lay back on his bed and closed his eyes, effectively blocking out the noise coming from two cells down the corridor. He had better things to do with his time than get irritated. Things such as thinking about Batman, thinking about explosions, and gasoline, and fire and knives.
God, he missed his knives.
He sighed. Arkham had a way of just pushing into your head. He wasn't crazy, he always lived by that thought. He wasn't, everyone else was. It was just the way it was. But if he didn't get out of here soon, he probably would be. I mean, he'd enjoyed the rest and the prepared food and stuff, but the counselling was tedious and everyone seemed to be fighting over each other to get his case. And really, he didn't want to talk about his childhood, or any of that bollocks. So he told each person a different story just to imagine the expressions on their faces when it turns out that their 'good work' was a pile of garbage that needed to go in the trash. And the expression on the previous guy who had decided he was definitely right only to be crushed too.
It was the only fun he got.
He needed to leave though. Now, preferably, but if not pretty soon. It was probably pretty easy once he put his mind to it, but now he came to think of it, it was quite difficultto put his mind to it when someone was singing like someone trying to escape a collapsed mine. So much endless despair.
It was beginning to, uh, grate.
A sharp bang from the door of the cell next to him almost made him jump. But only almost. He snickered to himself, at least someone was taking their time to threaten to carve someones eyeballs out with a spoon, and it wasn't him. that meant they'dget the extra councilling and he'dhave extra time to plan his escape.
He pulled a face at himself. He hated plans. But this wasn't going to be the easiest thing in the world for him to do on his own.
The Joker smiled at the way the word was snapped by his fellow inmate. He was evidently furious.
"You wanna shut the fuck up before I find a way to do it for you?"
He hadn't paid much attention to his 'neighbour' up until now, but he sounded a lot saner than the asylums average lunatic. A lot clearer. The Joker sat up and tried to picture the voice. Calm, collected, American with a tinge of something else…
The sound of heavy footsteps marching past his door made the Joker snarl. It was always so noisy in here. He couldn't ever just think. A bang on the door next to him just wound him up further. He really missed his knives.
"Er, you might wanna be the one to, ahem, 'shut the fuck up', buddy," the guard said, mockingly. "It's your fault he's like this."
Those words echoes around the Jokers head and brought a massive smile to his face. 'It's your fault he's like this', even blocking out the shouted abuse the inmate hurled back.
The Joker was currently sat in a cell next to none other than the Scarecrow. Dr Jonathan Crane himself. The Joker did a little dance in the confined space, not capable of holding in his glee. The guard had finished shouting at Crane and peered into the Joker's cell on his way past at the excited giggling coming from within.
"What the fucks got you so excited, freak?"
The Joker stopped and stared at the guard, still smirking.
"Oh, nothing. Just thinking about carving your chee-ks with a potato peeler."
The guard shook his head and turned away in disgust while the Joker, ever smiling, sat back down on the edge of the bed.