Call me Rich... 'cause that's what I am.

- gaps in your memory

- finding yourself in a strange place without knowing how you got there

- out-of-body experiences

- loss of feeling in parts of your body

- distorted views of your body

- forgetting important personal information

- being unable to recognise your image in a mirror

- a sense of detachment from your emotions

- the impression of watching a movie of yourself

- feelings of being unreal

- internal voices and dialogue

- feeling detached from the world

- forgetting appointments

- feeling that a customary environment is unfamiliar

- a sense that what is happening is unreal

- forgetting a talent or learned skill

- a sense that people you know are strangers

- a perception of objects changing shape, colour or size

- feeling you don’t know who you are acting like different people, including child-like behaviour

-being unsure of the boundaries between yourself and others

- feeling like a stranger to yourself

- being confused about your sexuality or gender

- feeling like there are different people inside you

- referring to yourself as ‘we’

- being told by others that you have behaved out of character

- finding items in your possession that you don’t remember buying or receiving

“Perhaps my father played hide-the-purple-turnip with your mother. He diddles the maids we have, so why not?” he thought then aloud with a shrug, feeling he ought to suggest it as it was a fact.

He paused then sighed, eyes creasing. “Hmm.... no, that wouldn’t explain the uncanny similarity we share”

Jonathan stares at the hand for a moment before giving it a small shake. “It is nice to meet you too,” he replies. Well, at least this man has manners. Nearly everyone else in Gotham is unbearably rude in every way. Damn them to hell for that.

Well, at least they aren’t as rude at the people in the town up in. People in small towns are actually a lot more rude than portrayed in movies. Lot’s of Jesus and beating anyone who disagrees with the bible.

“Come in then. Take a seat, won’t you?”

He went to his desk, sitting behind it with a tired sigh, rubbing his face gently with a sniff. He thought how he might have himself a little drink from his stash when his guest had left... or perhaps something a little stronger.

He sighed then, thinking now as he spoke. “We are underfunded in terms of staff…in particular guards..and orderlies..we can gather as many intern psychologists, thats no problem, but guards are hard to reel in..they find the work too..stressful” he stressed the word. “We also need huge work done to the building, new security systems..repairs to the actual building…for example, some building in the island have no central heating, some parts have damp and mould and others have leaks..” he threw up his hands at that, he had lived this life for years now, in this under funded shell of a system. It had broken his working spirit and twisted his life goals.

“Rest assured this will all be seen to. I also would like to pour a little funding in to training facilities for staff: after all, one does need to keep up to date with new theories and the necessary edits that are almost constantly being made to the D.S.M.” he nodded, abbreviating the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders. He was speaking from the heart here; how he, though not a practicing psychologist, always liked to be kept up to date in the field.

Here he also gave a raised brow to Hugo.

His head tilted downward slightly so his eyes seemed to bore into Rich’s. His gut was turning now, he was starving, he was agitated and the jacket seemed a hundred times tighter at that very second. “Well, you know, I’m glad the suffering of hundreds of mentally ill patients pays so well..” he snapped, but his face twitched with a grin. He cleared his throat then, watching Rich like a predator. 

His gut turned and turned, he was feeling warm and ready to pop. He could feel it. He heard the tune of a Jack in the Box…Pop goes the Weasel it was..he heard it as the crank in his brain rustily turned and turned. Suddenly, the lip exploded and the Jack leaped out.  

While the guards regained control of the situation, he frailly got back to his feet, the shock of what just happened dulling any anger he may have felt. He pulled a crisp handkerchief from an inside pocket of his coat and dabbed at the salty blood coating his lips. His eyes fell upon Joker as he did this and he took a few breaths through his mouth as he glared at him.

The glare was nothing special to be in the firing line of, but even an apprentice Psychiatrist or perhaps a novice psychopath could recognize the look there: it was the look of a predator that saw nothing but all the ways to hurt and degrade the subject of their gaze. It told Joker that Rich was already imagining a whole host of punishments to lay upon him. It told him that Rich had practice in the arena of torture and perhaps more.