Many Faces

Plainly, Vic didn’t care so much about Batman– they weren’t even competitors, how could they be when they fought for the same cause? They weren’t in the same circle, Batman had a killer superiority complex. Vic didn’t care. Until recently, they hadn’t even lived in the same city. The world’s most famous vigilante, he’d made a name for himself, the best at what he did. Vic knew.

Was this a detail that would separate him from the Joker for good. A blessed though… right?

Curse the inevitable questions. He wondered how this clown was with philosophy.

“You hear about the scorpion and the turtle?”

That was his question. Vic kept his clenched fists in his pockets.

And here--we--goooo. 

He watched the kid muster up some form of courage and it was pointless, completely pointless. This one kept his face blank, saying nothing, and he knew there was a killer instinct there. 

Some raving madness. You were forced to project upon that blankness, all in the mind. 

At least the Bat had a face. Hm. Inevitable. 

He tsked, disparaging. Not that old story. He couldn’t remember if he had ever said anything about that one (--he had, if he did remember), but it was so--blank. 

“And lets not forget the mysterious grimace.” Vic added, “Gotta admit, I’m lacking in that department.” 

Vic had looked into Batman’s eyes, the look was inspirational. Not in the role model sense, but in the way that made him think. He was looking at a different pair of eyes now, they were inspirational as well.

In a sense far more wild than Batman.

Pleasantries aside, Vic’s body was tuned for any upcoming gags– The circus presented it’s tightrope, flame eaters and knife jugglers bellow. Vic, of course, had plunged right in.

“Thanks for meeting with me, I know you’re a very busy clown.”

The Joker was tired, tired of see so many of them--miss the point. The Mask was Batman’s real face. He stepped back into the shadows, deciding. 

“You seem like a nice guy. I do my best,” he said. But seeming--what was the inverse of the Bat? A man who wore nothing-- was he worse? Oh not as--right as Batman, that could never be. But what was he? Really. 

“What’s the question, then? The clock is ticking.”

Cliche? Probably, but Vic’s blood ran cold as he recognized the figure in the shadows. A well earned reaction for such a title. Vic would claim that he’d been dreading this moment, except the back of his conscious had been searching for the man since he’d crossed the city limits.

It wasn’t his first time in the city, nor was this his first lunatic. However, the combination was toxic. 

Having met the Batman prior, and witnessing the legend’s mannerisms with his own eyes it seemed unrealistic that an adversary as obsessive as this, would mistake him for even a minute. 

–So vic entered the world of un-realism. What a dumb ass, he berated himself.

“How would you know?” he wouldn’t introduce himself as the new kid, and he certainly wouldn’t kick things off with a nice to meet you.

“No one knows what he’s got beneath that cowl. Maybe this is all there is.”

The Joker stared at him--and had to laugh. He shook his head. 

“Funny man,” he said. “Hilarious. But I admit--that’d be good.”

For a moment, in his mind of so many possibilities, so many mirrors running along run current, he could see it. But no. Batman had a face, one of distinction and one--he didn’t wish to see. Not yet. 

Not ever. 

“I’ve seen his eyes.That look in them.”

“I really hate to say it, but you’re losing your touch, old--.”

He pretended to squint, to guess, to hmmmm, as the second-rate, unworthy, lousy, two bit---

(A haze of static as he knew who this scum of the earth was, and he had planned to kill him in the most horrific way possible, not even with a tinge of brutal irony as death can allow--for daring...)