Post by jest on Nov 13, 2011 16:19:05 GMT -4
One Week Prior
Sitting in the abandoned children’s playroom of a nursery school that had been swallowed by Gotham’s underbelly because of the spooky horror stories associated with it couldn’t have been a better place for the Clown Prince of Crime to situate one of his many head quarters. It had one of those eerie Chrenobyl disaster type themes to it – the scattered toys all over the floor, the peeling lead paint, and creaky floor boards. It was absolutely divine.
However, as perfect as the décor was in his cozy little hideout – it didn’t help with his lapse in cognitive and physical entertainment. It had been raining outside for DAYS. And it wasn’t that pleasant little pitter patter of droplets hitting a rooftop – no – it was a monstrous tsunami type blasts of water that soaked anything and everything that came within its grasp.
All in all – it wasn’t a good day to go outside – no body likes to play in the rain.
So The Joker sat around his new complex examining and re-examining the various nooks and crannies within his beloved casa till he got bored of taking pleasant notes of the various doodads and thing-a-ma-bobs the place harbored. Finally he settled for mind-numbing television watching to keep him busy. Unfortunately, he was a bit lax in his, otherwise, perky mood today and didn’t want to peel himself off the Laz-E-Boy recliner to search for some of his movies to pop into the boob tube.
So he flipped through some channels – randomly chuckling, randomly yawning, and flicking through the stations faster than an eye could even blink; till finally something caught the apple of his eye. It was the Gotham Station News Channel, GSNC that coincidentally was reporting on something other than the Joker’s antics throughout the city. At first, the fact of not being constantly mentioned bothered him, but it was the mention of a Nicaraguan excavation that made him stay with the channel.
“I’m here with the archeologists on the Nicaraguan excavation site – so, tell us what new discoveries you’re making here?” Summer Gleeson smiled her newly refurbished white washed teeth of hers in the dazzling hit rays of the sun that made her blonde hair even blonder than it usually was. A tall, very tan, and physically fit man stood next to her, the mic now shoved into his face. “Well, Ms. Gleeson,” he smiled at her and the Joker rolled his eyes, the sexual tension bursting the between the two that JUST met was apparent if not annoying. “We’re finding a lot of remains of a lost ancient civilization that has been forgotten through out the centuries. A lot of the arts, sciences, agriculture and social dynamics are largely intact in a lot of their recordings that out local interpreter has decoded. Usually with civilizations like these were barely are able to get a glimpse of how that society worked – but having such well documented records is a big find and welcome treat. But probably the most interesting thing we found is the discussion of a powerful relic within the remains that seemed to have belonged to their deity that is said to alter reality.” He chuckled for a moment, “Now, we’re not saying that it really DOES do this – perhaps it’s some metaphorical implication or some hallucinogenic – but the in depth discussion of this object seems to be a very big part of this civilization.” Gleeson responded, “Did you know where to find it?” The archeologist shook his head, “Unfortunately, that is one thing they didn’t record, but there is still a lot of ground to cover – so we’ll see.” The camera zoomed in on Gleeson’s face, “And there you have it folks, from Nicaragua, reporting back to GSNC – back to you Rider.”
Today
The Joker sat comfortably in his Managua Hotel Resort. He was out and about in the white sandy beaches of the resort’s oasis. His tropical flannel shirt only buttoned up midway to his chest and he was wearing bright yellow boy shorts with baby blue flip flop sandals. He was wearing a pair of green sunglasses that sprouted palm trees at the edges and was reclining in a bright yellow hammock with a strawberry Daiquiri loosely held within his grasp.
This was MUCH better than rain.
He had recently got there only a day ago, and had brought his passes and all of his fun vacation activities with him boarded into his fine suite. It was MUCH easier to acquire lodging outside of the US of A when no one knew who you were and really only cared about money. In fact, his white skin wasn’t even particularly reviled or very much commented on – as long as he paid up the green (courtesy of Penguin) they didn’t care if was rainbow colored.
And even though the Joker loved playing around in the crystal clear waters of South American beaches (and talking Spanish – that was always great and a little funny) what his eye was on at the moment was the Excavation site not only a few hours away from his resort. It was located in the outskirts of Granada – another fine city – not as hip and happening as Managua (which was why he got a place in Managua) – but still. He prepared his itinerary to start for dark and late that evening to the site to troll around for any real trace of this supposed all manipulating gem.
But for now he was going to relax and watch the clear blue waves crash into the shore line and get the cabana boy to get him another Daiquiri.
Sitting in the abandoned children’s playroom of a nursery school that had been swallowed by Gotham’s underbelly because of the spooky horror stories associated with it couldn’t have been a better place for the Clown Prince of Crime to situate one of his many head quarters. It had one of those eerie Chrenobyl disaster type themes to it – the scattered toys all over the floor, the peeling lead paint, and creaky floor boards. It was absolutely divine.
However, as perfect as the décor was in his cozy little hideout – it didn’t help with his lapse in cognitive and physical entertainment. It had been raining outside for DAYS. And it wasn’t that pleasant little pitter patter of droplets hitting a rooftop – no – it was a monstrous tsunami type blasts of water that soaked anything and everything that came within its grasp.
All in all – it wasn’t a good day to go outside – no body likes to play in the rain.
So The Joker sat around his new complex examining and re-examining the various nooks and crannies within his beloved casa till he got bored of taking pleasant notes of the various doodads and thing-a-ma-bobs the place harbored. Finally he settled for mind-numbing television watching to keep him busy. Unfortunately, he was a bit lax in his, otherwise, perky mood today and didn’t want to peel himself off the Laz-E-Boy recliner to search for some of his movies to pop into the boob tube.
So he flipped through some channels – randomly chuckling, randomly yawning, and flicking through the stations faster than an eye could even blink; till finally something caught the apple of his eye. It was the Gotham Station News Channel, GSNC that coincidentally was reporting on something other than the Joker’s antics throughout the city. At first, the fact of not being constantly mentioned bothered him, but it was the mention of a Nicaraguan excavation that made him stay with the channel.
“I’m here with the archeologists on the Nicaraguan excavation site – so, tell us what new discoveries you’re making here?” Summer Gleeson smiled her newly refurbished white washed teeth of hers in the dazzling hit rays of the sun that made her blonde hair even blonder than it usually was. A tall, very tan, and physically fit man stood next to her, the mic now shoved into his face. “Well, Ms. Gleeson,” he smiled at her and the Joker rolled his eyes, the sexual tension bursting the between the two that JUST met was apparent if not annoying. “We’re finding a lot of remains of a lost ancient civilization that has been forgotten through out the centuries. A lot of the arts, sciences, agriculture and social dynamics are largely intact in a lot of their recordings that out local interpreter has decoded. Usually with civilizations like these were barely are able to get a glimpse of how that society worked – but having such well documented records is a big find and welcome treat. But probably the most interesting thing we found is the discussion of a powerful relic within the remains that seemed to have belonged to their deity that is said to alter reality.” He chuckled for a moment, “Now, we’re not saying that it really DOES do this – perhaps it’s some metaphorical implication or some hallucinogenic – but the in depth discussion of this object seems to be a very big part of this civilization.” Gleeson responded, “Did you know where to find it?” The archeologist shook his head, “Unfortunately, that is one thing they didn’t record, but there is still a lot of ground to cover – so we’ll see.” The camera zoomed in on Gleeson’s face, “And there you have it folks, from Nicaragua, reporting back to GSNC – back to you Rider.”
Today
The Joker sat comfortably in his Managua Hotel Resort. He was out and about in the white sandy beaches of the resort’s oasis. His tropical flannel shirt only buttoned up midway to his chest and he was wearing bright yellow boy shorts with baby blue flip flop sandals. He was wearing a pair of green sunglasses that sprouted palm trees at the edges and was reclining in a bright yellow hammock with a strawberry Daiquiri loosely held within his grasp.
This was MUCH better than rain.
He had recently got there only a day ago, and had brought his passes and all of his fun vacation activities with him boarded into his fine suite. It was MUCH easier to acquire lodging outside of the US of A when no one knew who you were and really only cared about money. In fact, his white skin wasn’t even particularly reviled or very much commented on – as long as he paid up the green (courtesy of Penguin) they didn’t care if was rainbow colored.
And even though the Joker loved playing around in the crystal clear waters of South American beaches (and talking Spanish – that was always great and a little funny) what his eye was on at the moment was the Excavation site not only a few hours away from his resort. It was located in the outskirts of Granada – another fine city – not as hip and happening as Managua (which was why he got a place in Managua) – but still. He prepared his itinerary to start for dark and late that evening to the site to troll around for any real trace of this supposed all manipulating gem.
But for now he was going to relax and watch the clear blue waves crash into the shore line and get the cabana boy to get him another Daiquiri.