A Bad Joke
…Joker/Harley is love.
He licked his lips in frustration. They'd set him a room with only a table and two chairs, one of which he occupied. He linked his hands and put them on the table. His eyes darted around the room slowly. It was so white in here. So bland and boring. Perhaps he could fix that with a bit of paint, if only they'd let him have a little bit.
He ran a hand over his chin. Speaking of paint, the bit he had on his face was beginning to wear off. It crusted in his hand. He drew his lips back in annoyance and shook his hand a few times to be rid of the white and red flakes. With the same hand, he ran it through his greasy, green, matted hair. He needed to brush it.
At this thought he smiled and giggled at himself. Brush his hair... right.
He wiped his palm off on his purple pants, and then shoved his hands in between his knees, heaving a heavy sigh, waiting. What exactly was he in here for?
Arkham Asylum. It even sounded as ominous and creepy as it was, so of course, he fit right in. Just like home. He'd been here for about three months now, and they only ever let him out of his cell to eat. But that had never been any fun. For one, he had absolutely no privacy. There was always a gun pointed at him ready to fire if he tried anything funny. But what use was trying something funny when none of them would even talk to him so that he could crack a joke.
Stupid, stupid, stupid. This whole place was stupid to him. It was a bad joke. There were so many places where he knew exactly how to escape if he ever wanted to. Even will the mounds of guns that were constantly pointed at him he could get out. All the security was wasted. They should be patrolling the outside more than the patients, he thought.
The door on the right side of the room opened and in walked a blonde woman, her hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. She carried a clipboard, a notebook and wore glasses, a white coat with a light red dress underneath, and some very noisy heels. She looked like a very stereotypical doctor to the insane.
She pulled her glasses off and sat in the chair opposite to him. "Hello, my name is Doctor Harleen Quinzel." She told him, concentrating on straightening the papers and readying to take her notes during the session.
He raised his eyebrows. "Harleen Quinzel?" he questioned with a smile. "You know, if you change that, it could be something like—"
"Harlequin. Like the clown." She said, sending him an irritated glance from looking down at his file. "You aren't the first to say so."
She was feisty and argumentative. She was also young and attractive, but he didn't get the feeling that she was naïve.
This... was going to be fun.
R&R. It makes me happy.