Frances

You swung the door to the linen closet open and threw the rag to the laundry basket, before walking over to the shelf to get a new one.

“You look, ah, not very service-friendly,” you suddenly heard from behind you and whipped around to see the very person you had been afraid of to barge in. The Joker had stood in the corner of the room, but was now taking slow steps towards you.

“How did you get in?” you squeaked out, trying to seek out the emergency button with your hand, but The Joker noticed your hand wandering and immediately grabbed you, pulling you flush against him and pressing the knife against your cheek.

“Now, that’s very nice to greet a, ah, guest,” he murmured, his foul breath fanning against your face.

You swallowed, staring at the tip of the knife that was dangerously close to your eyeball. “You’re not Mr. Wayne’s guest.”

He grinned. “I’m not his guest. I came to meet, ah, you.”

You blinked. “Me?”

He shifted slightly. “I saw you earlier. You have fight in you, frustration against the elite of Gotham.”

You frowned. “Where did—”

He tightened his hold on your face. “Shh, does it matter? I saw you, I saw the potential in you, and that’s something, ah, I want to have.”

The blade pressed on your cheek so hard now that it was just about to draw blood. You felt tears coming up, maybe from the pressure on your face, maybe from fear, maybe because your heart thumped so fast and it messed up with your tear canals somehow. He swiped his gloved thumb under your eye. “Aw doll, don’t cry. I just, ah, want you to know you would do better than this, serving the so-called elite of Gotham.”

You trembled slightly in his hold, before he finally released you and dug out the inside of his coat, before showing one of his many Joker cards. “Here’s my card, in case you, ah, want to find your true potential.”

He leaned over, laying the card on the table behind you, before brushing his hand over your cheek again. Then, he walked out of the door and disappeared, likely the same way he came from, because you didn’t hear any sounds of commotion. You leaned against the table behind you, breathing fast, feeling the imprint of the blade on your cheek. Every single cell of you told you to pick up the card and run to Bruce, but instead, you picked it up and stared at it… before you pocketed it.

You weren’t even sure why, but you had a feeling things were changing soon.