#jokethur

in a thousand languages a word for this desire

one might argue that the way barton huffed through his nostrils in a wry sense of disbelief at what he heard come out of the other's mouth, rather than at the terrible thing that was just said through his own lips without an ounce of shame, told you everything you needed to know about him; that he was a brutal and very unfeeling person. but honestly, even if those things were the least bit true, barton thought... he was only saying what everyone would be thinking in their heads if they knew what was really going on behind the scenes. they just wouldn't want to say it aloud for one reason or another, whether that was due to the fear of being ostracized by their peers, or frowned down upon by society as a whole. kind of like how he was currently by the man standing beside him.

barton took a long drag out of his cigarette and averted his gaze from one of the big, bright displays that decorated the skyline to meet the others eyes. the displays were showcasing what looked like the latest news: and that was what barton seemingly was making a comment on, as the death of a cop that was rather infamous for being a ' pinnacle of kindness and care to their community ' was the main headline for that day. except that man was everything but in reality. it was just so rich to be seeing him regarded as some fantastic guy, when barton knew for a fact that he was a sleazeball who he had seen hanging around his old boss, as he was secretly in their pocket and doing their dirty work. and if there was one person that barton held contempt for more than anything... it was the man who used to treat him like he was something less than human. or, less than dirt, actually.

but of course, barton would never tell the gcpd of his corruption because he knew that rainer (you have to put a face to the name for these people) would realize that it was him who'd sold him out. and besides... since when did he have faith in the gcpd, or even like the police? they were all a bunch of pigs to him. so, barton let him continue on with his little game of playing the role of the well-beloved police officer while he was helping people get killed on the side. he rolled his eyes then, ❝ well, if i had known that you were such a big fan of the police, then i likely wouldn't have said anything. but i rest my case: a lot of people do deserve to die, stranger, and he was one of them. so i don't feel sorry for him or his family at all. ❞

barton stated this all in a very matter-of-fact manner, blowing smoke out through his nose from his cigarette before he continued, ❝ i mean, where was this guy if he was so good whenever the city got flooded? i didn't see him among the people who were helping other's whenever everything went to shit. in fact, i bet he was probably sitting in some place really safe and warm whenever it happened, because i knew the real kind of person that he was. a total prick who certainly wasn't the golden boy that the news is trying to make him out to be, ❞ he flicked his cigarette down on the ground and smushed it underneath his boot, successfully putting out the fire on its other end. barton turned to face arthur completely with an unamused look in his eyes.

Plants keep secrets if you had nowhere else to go. It’s one of those things Daniel learned young, a boy with nothing and no one, a boy cast out by the people meant to love him. Plants also follow the same life cycle we do, bloom and decay, birth and rot, and they go back to the earth just the same as we do. Not enough people get that, Daniel thinks. It’s easier to relax under cover of green. He wouldn’t be surprised if all this life drew Joker in even unintentionally. That’s how it always goes.

Camellia’s sat on the high stool behind the store counter sorting rocks. How she’s sorting them, who’s to say, but it looks to be maybe by size. The humidity in the air has her hair more frizzy than curly, little brown ringlets coiled at her temples and at the nape of her neck. She says nothing to her latest customer when the door jingles. Bad service already.

“Little early for philosophizing.” Daniel speaks from Joker’s right where he’s rehanging a wind chime by the front window. It’s comprised of chunks of seaglass strung together by twine and would throw fractals of bluegreen against the walls if the light outside wasn't so bleak. Joker ought to watch his step unless he wants to wade through a tipped over bag of fertilizer with those fancy shoes of his. Daniel grins knowingly. “What? Don’t like flowers?”

her apartment hadn't been set up for guests as it looked like a tornado had spat out clothes, paintings, and children's toys. all of which littered and filled up any available space. though the couch was roomy enough. and the patio door was left wide open to allow the hot breeze to cool off the complex. she'd blame it on the air conditioner not working, but truthfully she just didn't pay her bills yet.

a boisterous remark sounds from the spitting image of Harley's youngest, " mama - what does illegal mean ?? " she sets her big round baby blues on arthur, wiping her head to stare, but her mother just chuckles. at the curiosity of a six year old. placing a plastic chew toy that faintly smells after being bitten into several times over and telling her daughter to go get Buddy. she races out of the room to go find the deported hyena. yelling his name when she was out of sight. she had been accustomed to pets while she was just a baby - even the more exotic one's. they were as much Lucy's as they were Harley's. Though they seemed to favor Lucy after she was born.

" she's very smart. " she started in. brushing back her long disheveled blonde mess of hair behind her ears and eying the small hyena that entered the room. becoming hyper fixed at the wolf dog at Arthur's heels. sniffing and wagging his tail in greeting. though his only companion having been just humans thus far, " she gets that kinda special attention at school. . . though I been pushin' for a tutor. someone that could keep up with her. . . " she paused. searching and when she found it she said so, " talents. She's a few grades above her peers her age. "

she turned to frowning. her eyes looking all kinds of tired and scared and sad, overthinking before saying, " a doc told us she got some PTSD. from her father. still in her crib when a thug down 5th found out where Jack lived. left bullet holes in the ceilin'. she didn't get hurt, but doc said she'd need therapy. "

Abruptly her fingers started shaking and her hands came up to wipe away tears in her eyes as they stained her cheeks and rolled down in black mascara, " I ain't sure about it yet, but I'm thinkin' o' sendin' her to my sister's for awhile. think she'd be safer in a better place. it ain't right keepin' her here. "