The Joker's Jester

“Neurosurgeon,” he gave a tight-lipped, humorless smile as he took another drink, staring into his glass as he set it down again, “No longer practicing.” Clearing his throat, he glanced her over again, smirking as he seemed to humor her own claim of Doctor title ownership, attempting an air of coy curiosity, “What about you?”

“Psychiatrist! Also...no longer practicing.” She gave a little shrug of one shoulder, holding back the details of why exactly she didn’t practice anymore. And probably never could again. 

“Seems like a really good setup for a ‘two doctors meet at the bar’ joke. But I wonder what the punchline would be...”

He squinted sideways at her for a long time before returning to his drink. Alright, he was already regretting this trip. “Well, I’ve had enough of torture of any sort, personally.” He used to be good at this.  Talking to people. Talking to pretty women, even ones with very questionable tastes. Centuries had passed, at least to him, he was in a universe far removed from his own… he could try.

He also didn’t used look like some sort of borderline reanimated corpse, at best.

“That’s why we come here, right? The bar, I mean.” He squared his shoulders, drew in a deep breath, and raised his glass, “Doctor Stephen Strange.” A totally normal, completely human person who hadn’t been drinking more than a human person should have been able to for the better part of an hour.

Harley clinked her glass against his, her smile brightening. “Doctor Harleen Quinzel! Everybody just calls me Harley. Nice ta meetcha!”

She set her empty glass back down, suddenly much more interested in the stranger at the bar, and turned in her stool to face him.

He seemed to mull this question over, staring at his drink long and hard, clearly debating where to even start with some random perky stranger in a low cut blouse and pigtails. Finally, he seemed to settle for, “Agoraphobia, I suppose you could call it, and an unhealthy work/life balance.”

He drained his glass, waving the bartender down for another, “Good on you for it being an ex, in that case. Time is fleeting, and not worth wasting on torture,” unless Time was all you had, anyway. 

“Yeah, I guess...” she said half-heartedly with a little shrug of her shoulder, but smiled all the same. “Unless a’course it’s the fun kinda torture. God, I miss that part...”

The man didn’t react at first, intense, haunted expression a thousand miles away before he even realized he had been staring in the first place. He blinked, looking the odd, pale woman over before lifting his drink for a fresh long sip and replying, dryly, “No.”

He figured, all things considered, he should feel lucky that he could still get drunk.  Granted, it took a little more than it used to, but it could be done. He didn’t necessarily need to eat, but it had no adverse effects to do so, his body simply not sure if it was human or ancient creature at any given time.  After a few moments, he realized his response might have come across as rude. “Do you need to talk about something? I noticed the head-to-table,” He clarified. “Apologies. I’m… a little rusty at… people.”

This was what he had come here for, wasn’t it?  Reminders of his humanity.

His question gave Harley pause. She wasn’t used to anyone asking how she was doing, if she needed to talk, if she needed...well...anything. As a therapist, it was always about her patients. As Harley Quinn, everything had been about the Joker.

“....Oh ya know. Just the crappy ex-boyfriend blues. Nothin’ a few cocktails couldn’t chase away!”

She tipped back another sip, leaning her elbow on the bar and resting her head in her hand.

@thejokersjester​ liked the thing for a thing

Sometimes the weight of your existence, the full depth of every mistake, miscalculation, regret, retrospect, mulled and re-mulled in the shifting darkness of your own self inflicted prison that you simply had to step out and clear your head.  It wasn’t so much that he lost track of time, but in a place devoid of entropy, it simply became a hazy sort of concept you didn’t particularly want to think about.  There was his silent duty, of course, but he had his precautions.  When he found his mind spiraling down paths that were entirely questionable at best, there was no recourse but to go for a walk, so to speak. 

The multiverse was vast and endless, after all, and finding his way back here again was far simpler than navigating time and space as a whole. He could visit something familiar, or something wildly new and exciting…

Ultimately, he settled on a middle ground, a timeline of Earth far removed from his own timeline- there might be whispers, but the Constants were different enough, and besides, this strange place seemed to be toward the New Jersey side of the river, familiar enough, but no one he’d know would be there in any case. There was evidence of the use of magic and meta-humans of a sorts in this reality, so he wouldn’t be entirely out of place, but it would be a nice change of pace. Some city called Gotham… well, it seemed like a place he’d fit in, at least for a spell. 

Energy crackled in the alleyway, golden sparks and shifting shadows as the man in his battered, ancient looking suit jacket appeared, quietly drinking in the gloomy, poorly lit scenery before spotting what he was looking for- a bar. Perfect. The drink was always welcome, but the idea of being around and close to humans again was inviting, as well as intimidating in all honesty.  Interdimentional catastrophes he could deal with in a heart beat.  Social skills? Those had become increasingly rusty over the centuries. 

He ordered his drink, glancing sideways at someone seated down the bar from him, noting that the currency looked normal-american enough, before gesturing under the countertop in a subtle flash of light, and placing his own bills on the table. Sip and listen.  Was this how The Watcher felt, he wondered. Maybe if he made himself invisible. 

Harley was having a bad night, her head full of sour memories, rotten fights, gaslighting that had seeped into her gastrointestinal tract like some kind of parasitic worm, sapping her good mood away. It was days like this that she knew she should get out of her apartment and be around other people, no matter how much she’d prefer to curl up in bed with a tub of ice cream and a five dollar pizza. 

She could at least count on this little hole in the wall bar to be free of anyone she knew. Directly, anyway. It was hard keeping track, considering all the chaos of her life before leaving the Joker. She’d just enjoy the simple din of glasses clinking and casual conversations happening around her. Maybe, if her mood picked up, she’d kick the karaoke machine into gear and try to drum up a little party.

But to do that, she would have to pick her head up and out of her arms on the bar first. With a little groan, Harley did so, pouting at the glass of cheap beer in front of her, until she felt someone’s gaze nearby. She glanced over, staring at him as she searched her memory, and couldn’t seem to recall ever seeing his face before. She lifted her glass to him with a little smile, and took it as a sign from the universe that this was her chance to strike up a conversation and find some distraction.

@thejokersjester || continued if you’d like!

“You’re welcome.”

Jeremiah Valeska sat opposite the woman before him, his silver eyes studying her face a moment before politely averting away while she drank. “I do apologize for the rough methods used to bring you in. My brother’s cultists are not known for their breeding, and seem to forget a kidnapping is not the best way to offer one safety. That will be rectified, I can assure you.”

He returned his gaze towards her, a smile tilting his lips up, his head inclining. “I hope there wasn’t much harm done?”

“Just...a scraped knee, maybe. Some bruises.”

Her arm ached where a particularly large assailant had snatched her, the ghost of his vice-like grip still sending little hints of pain through her skin. Her scraped knee had already mostly scabbed over, and any other damage she might have sustained were minimal. Nothing, really, compared to the fear and uncertainty spinning through her head.

Harley blushed at the condoms he flourished like a stack of cards. Between the two of them and their rowdy nights out, he with his mischief-maker of a boyfriend, and her with her one-night-stands, it was easy to get the supply mixed up.