"Ms. Quinn!!" yells the joker, his voice brimming with unbridled madness. The once rational psychologist, snaps to attention like a professional sergeant-at-arms. Bells jingle at the tips of her jester's cap. "Yer, sir, Boss." She listens with undisclosed admiration as the criminal, once her patient, now her paragon goes on in an oddly civil tone, "we musn't keep the... little people of Gotham waiting." Standing below the massive circumference of a ridiculous but somehow foreboding swirly-gig, the joker starts to cackle, his maniacal laughs poised with the expert timing of a master super villain.
Harley Quinn even dares join him for a few guffaws, one privilage of sidekicking, then before he has to tell her again she scurries around to the tv camera and starts checking all the wiring. Basic hacking was a neccesary study if you were going to hang with the Joker, "hey shlomo keep your eye on the door. " Unless you were a thug, that is.
The hulking man lumbers off sulkily toward the entrance, "my name's Larry," he mutters to himself.
"Hi Larry." The thug looks up into a dark cowled face hanging upside down. The next thing he see's are knuckles and a falling curtain of black enfolding him. '...like bat.. wings...'
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