thedawniscoming | [rl] Harvey, the Joker and Crane

"I don't know." Harvey growled, walking to the screaming man and stepping on his chest- he was there, it wasn't a hallucination was it?- before shooting another bullet into his skull.

The shouting was senseless now- the guy's grey matter was beginning to leak out the side of his head and hell, what on earth was this- fear toxin? Crane, he was going to kill him. He glanced at the Joker, expression still holding some of the rage though the confusion made it an almost lost look.

The Joker looked up when Harvey shot the man again, blood splattering across his face, cooling off as though it'd been dripping out of him for a while now, instead of through a fresh wound. The look on Harvey's face made him reach into his coat, pulling out a butterfly knife that he took his time in unfolding.

"Can you see me?" he asked the corpse, which looked at him with pain-infused eyes. "Close enough."

He stuck the knife in the man's eye and twisted, but all it earned was a garbled mess of howls. He looked back up at Harvey, an annoyed expression dawning on his face. "This is weird. Spooky, even. But relax. Maybe he's just a slow learner?"

Harvey watched with a morbid sort of apathy, sure enough the man still breathed even as his face began to get unrecognizable between the bullets and the knife. The man's cries were wet now, quieter thankfully though no one glanced down the alley. Gotham knew better.

It took a moment to process the words- calm down- anger unfurling in his chest that was refreshingly familiar. If he was going mad then it was just another fork in the road. A damned lost flip.

"Slit his throat." He said, an order that sounded more like a suggestion and if the man didn't stop screaming soon he'd blow his jaw off with the next hit. "This has to stop."

"Do you one better," he grunted, yanking the knife out of the man's eye and leaning in to look at his throat. "We should find another one," he muttered, stabbing the knife violently into the man's jugular and beginning the slow, arduous process of sawing off his head with what was little more than a jackknife. "Maybe it's just him."

The man gurgled and blood spat out of his throat into the Joker's face - he slapped the man across the jaw. "Don't do that."

Harvey pressed his fingers into the coin in his pocket, eyes never leaving the Joker's work as he pulled it out, flipped. Tails, always tails. Rachel's bitter imprint on his life face up. Sometimes he wondered if he should hate her before the clarity fell away again.

"We're doing this my way." He said, eyes now fixed on the Joker, his blood and grease paint splattered face. He turned the coin over in his fingers - his way - and turned away from the mess that had once been a highly sought mob dealer. "I know where to smoke more out."

He finished his work with a flourish, snapping the spine in two with his hands before lifting the head up to face him. It gurgled and its eyes rolled all around, unable to breathe and unable to feel its heartbeat -

"All right, now I'm getting spooked." He stood and, without thinking, drop-kicked the head away, listening to the gurgling thunks as it bounced into the dark. "Yeah, let's go see - this is eerie. I have a high tolerance, you know that, but - that's a little too gruesome, even for me."

"This seems right up your alley." Harvey walked down the alley, still turning the coin over in his hand, purpose renewed. A pointed sort of calm overtook the panic of before, the feeling of threads snapping at the seams. Whatever this was, it was outward. If he was that warped- well then, ignorance was indeed blissful.

He turned down near a peer, glancing to a man standing by a car, nearly nodding of at his post by the door. Harvey glanced to the Joker, nodding towards the man before pocketing his coin and moving forward. The man's eyes shot open in time for the ex DA to crack him soundly on the head with the butt of his gun, making the mob dealer, most likely nothing but a driver, low level grunt, fall to the ground. Harvey kneeled, taking the gun from his belt as the man groaned and turned over, catching sight of the pair, eyes widening even more so when the infamous clown came into view.

"So let's see then." Harvey pulled out his coin, glancing at the Joker. "Call it."

"Was that a pun?" the Joker asked, giggling as he followed along complacently. It really was a nice night for a stroll through Gotham's underbelly.

He waved cheerfully enough to the suddenly terrified grunt, waltzing forward to sit on the man's legs, ignoring the grunt of pain as they bent in uncomfortable ways. "Mm, let's try... heads. How's that?" he asked the man, nodding for him. "I think we both like heads."

His funeral. Harvey raised his brow and flipped the coin in the same sort of calm, catching it in his palm with a mildly curious look, oh no would you look at that. Such a shame, really. Such a shame.

His fingers curled again around the coin, pointing his gun at the now horrified man's head. "Trust me pal, you're going to hope this will be death." he said in a deadpan before putting a bullet in his skull.

And again. Harvey lowered his gun, the horror of the initial anomaly now an irate curiosity.

"-the hell is this." He muttered, warring between that frustration and nausea. Some part of him could still be horrified by this, as small as it may be.

"Oh, come on." Joker sat at the man's feet and watched him writhe, reaching up to pinch his mouth shut so his shrieking wouldn't alarm the entire dock. "This is just ridiculous." He sighed and looked up at Harvey. "What do we do now?"

"Make him stop screaming." Harvey answered, frustration warring out. This wasn't right- it wasn't fair or natural. It was throwing everything in a tilt and what the hell had Gotham become now? Hell in concrete and steel.

"Unless it- " He refocused on the Joker. "Do you have a phone?" he asked. He could contact the community- it had to be some trick of theirs. There was no other way.

"Not a problem." He pulled out his knife and thrust it into the man's jugular, dragging it up through the soft flesh of his jaw, reducing his neck to bloody shreds, vocal chords and all.

"Why do you need a phone?" he asked warily, nonetheless pulling out a simple prepaid phone and holding it out to the other as he idly poked at the bleeding man's face with his knife. "Who are you gonna call?"

Harvey glanced over a moment, to see if perhaps that killed the man, but the sick movement of his body and eyes proved otherwise. Harvey took the phone, walking off and out of hearing range.

After a few moments of hushed conversation he returned, the irritated look on his face now much closer to rage as he approached. "Hades. He's not letting anyone die. Having a fucking tantrum." He explained, opening the phone again and promptly bending it until it snapped in two. With a toss the pieces flew over the dock.

"What the fuck, Dent?" the Joker snapped, glaring at the other as he threw the phone into the water, pushing himself to his feet. "There are better ways to block numbers and I was using them."

Not that it mattered - he could have the number transferred in a matter of minutes. It was just irritating. "Well, then, if that's the problem, what do we do?" He gestured at the undying grunt behind him, "He's not going anywhere."

Harvey ignored the annoyance, looking down at the mess of a man. "Leave him." He said, turning away. "Sends a message, doesn't it?" his tone may have been bitter but it was lost as he moved away, back up from the pier before the man's cohorts came out. Harvey had no interest in maiming any more men tonight, not until things were set right.

He turned his head, glancing to the clown in a pointed 'move it' sort of look, though the burns made no real expression to read over his shoulder.

When he followed Harvey this time it was much more grudgingly, kicking the body in the gut roughly before following the half-burnt D.A. to wherever they were going.

He didn't like trailing, so he hop-skipped forward to match Harvey's pace. "So, who'd you call? Someone who couldn't know my number - not Crane, then. Bruce?" The disgust was evident in his tone.

"That isn't your business." Harvey answered lowly, most likely just enough to make it clear that the Joker's guess had been right. He didn't want to talk about Bruce, not with the Joker- never with the Joker. He was an untouchable part of Harvey's life for the painted man.

"What now." He stopped in an alley, glancing up. With the moment, with later as long as this ridiculous tantrum held.

That was enough for the Joker to know he was right and he accepted it, smiling blandly and crossing his arms. "What now, indeed. Mmm. You could shoot me." He frowned, "But then we'd have to clean up the mess and get surgery and it'd just be such a mess... No. Let's go... terrorize something." A mall, a diner, a police station - something, anything.

"We already played that gamble." Harvey answered, back turned- didn't matter if death was a side note. Fair was fair.

He glanced back over, regarding the man with a raised brow. Terror huh. His hand brushed over the coin in his pocket, charred and frayed. Why not. "That bored already?" He asked, looking down the alley. "Fine." How the mighty have fallen.

"This time, there's no risk." He moved to throw an arm around Harvey's shoulders, grinning wide. "And I'm always bored. I say we find a nunnery. They have those still, right?"

Harvey nearly rolled his eyes. His conversation with Bruce left a bad taste in his mouth. "If there are I doubt you'll find any pure hearted souls." he answered, glancing sharply over at the man.

His eyes feel back to the the grunt they had left behind, expression unreadable before he spoke again. "Haven't seen Crane's new place yet." he said in an offhanded manner.

He looked over at Harvey slyly, a grin forming on his stitched mouth.

"You know, we haven't." He laughed raucously, "And we should, uh, bring him some kind of housewarming present."

Briefly looking back the way they'd come, he wondered if he could drag the bloodied corpse they'd left at the docks all the way to - and then he remembered.

"Isn't he staying with us right now?" he asked in a way that sounded like he was asking after a long lost, socially maladjusted cousin.

Harvey raised his brow. "So it seems. He's been around enough." He was almost surprised the good doctor had lasted this long with them. It made Harvey's job of watching him easier.

"Then it won't be hard to find him, will it." He said, taking a step over to the sputtering corpse.

"Exactly," the Joker said, heading over to the corpse with more purpose than the other. "Let's take him a present anyway!"

He reached down and grabbed the corpse by it's mangled neck, listening to it kick and gurgle uselessly as he began to drag it back in the direction of their little hideout, expecting Harvey to follow. His turn to play leader.

Harvey followed, stepping besides the mess the jagged half dead man left as he dragged along. He moved ahead when they reached the building, opening the door and stepping in first, heading through.

"Crane." He entered the living room, taking the shell of a corpse from Joker and moving forward, dropping the sputtering mess at Crane's feet.

Crane was busy reading some printed pages from a new medical journal, random words highlighted, some text underlined, pen at the ready for more. He didn't bother to acknowledge them, even when Harvey spoke and it wasn't until the gurgling mass was laid at his feet did he look away.

He looked back to his article, expression entirely unchanged, "Should I be impressed?" He certainly didn't sound it.

The Joker wasted no time in stepping over the corpse and settling himself right in on Crane's lap, grabbing his chin and forcing him to look at the body at his feet.

"It's moving. I decapitated another, but it kept gurgling, so I had to kick it away." Plaintively, "Fix it."

Harvey ignored the Joker's actions, moving to pour himself a scotch. As apathetic as he looked he damned well needed one now.

"Hades is having a tantrum." He explained over the clinking of glass. "No one can die." He downed the drink in one shot.

The uncomfortable weight in his lap made him bristle, dirty gloves squeezing his cheeks hard enough to make him frown, eye the thing before them with some contempt. A god on strike and no one can die... Hum. He'd seen stranger, though none of that had been actually real; he was desensitized to say the least.

Crane glanced to Harvey from the corner of his eye then looked to Joker, frowning. Nothing needed to be said, his expression spoke loud and clear: Get off me.

The Joker ignored the expression, throwing his arms around Crane's neck and leaning in to hiss in his ear, "I'd pretend to be interested, if I were you."

Then, he leaned back and looked at Harvey. "He's not phased. Can I borrow your gun?"

Harvey didn't bother looking up as he made his second drink, pulling the gun from his belt and tossing it in the Joker's direction. Fair was fair after all, Joker had given Harvey that gun months ago. Just returning the favor.

He obliged Joker when he came close, purred in his ear, by slipping an arm around his middle-- stiffly, uncomfortably, but it was there. And that calm exterior fractured enough to show ... surprise? maybe, when the gun was tossed to Joker. His free hand still held the pen from before, twisted it absently between his fingers.

Well, he couldn't have that. He tightened his hold momentarily, shifting to tilt, murmur close, "I believe you." And in one quick movement he plunged the pen high into Joker's thigh, forcing it with surprising strength into the muscle.

Jonathan smiled.

His hands only barely had a grip on the gun when Crane stabbed him, but they clenched down tight and he howled, not thinking twice before pressing the barrel into the side of Crane's head.

"Take it out." He cocked the gun and groped with his free hand for his sock, pulling out another blade and - for lack of anything better to do - jammed it in to Crane's shoulder. "And hope I don't pull the trigger."

He resisted the urge to laugh and it was gone by the time the blade sunk into his shoulder. Lips parted, gaped, once, twice-- goddamnit, collect yourself, Jonathan. He squeezed his eyes shut to keep from vocalizing the pain, brows drawing, expression twisting between agony and anger. Fuck.

"We-e're even," he growled, sounding ragged, pained and finally he looked to him, tilted to the barrel so it pressed more firmly, "You won't."

Harvey watched with a mild sort of curiosity, a man watching a suitably entertaining show. Part of him smiled at the display, like two wolves tearing each other apart, the monsters under the bed self destructing in their own shadows.

He pulled out his coin, flipping with one hand as the display continued, as they growled and glared at each other, glancing down before finishing his second drink and stepping forward. He grabbed Joker's wrist from behind, pulling the gun up and away from Crane's head.

"Enough." He said, looking down at the two of them with an unreadable expression, tone more concrete and char than man.

Edited 2009-05-06 09:04 (UTC)

"I will," he snapped, finger reaching for the trigger when Harvey grabbed his arm and pulled it back. He snarled and twisted the knife, locking the safety back into place and letting the goddamned gun drop. "Fine." He grabbed Crane's chin again and grinned. "I like it better when you're gasping, anyway."

And then, leaving the knife in place, he made a complete 180-degree turn in his mood, grinning pleasantly at the doctor. "Where's your gas? I wanna see what happens when you put a dead man on drugs."

White Knight indeed; his relief was destroyed, of curse, by the twist, which caught him off guard enough to let a strained, hurt noise keen in his throat. When Joker looked him in the face, he looked furious. So much for even.

Crane grimaced at the remark, then deadpanned to the following question, "I have none here." His arm slinked back from around him to grasp the handle of the knife, eying how deep it'd managed to go. Just touching the handle hurt but fear wouldn't pull it loose. Never fixed anything.

Nostrils flared and he jerked it free with naught but a grunt, stabbing it into the arm of the couch. No, he was not happy. This suit was new.

Harvey took the gun back, placing it in his belt and leaning against a wall, closer to the pair then before but still a safe distance away. The man on the ground stared up at him and he stared back fighting a conflicting mix between nausea and morose satisfaction. Know about bad luck pal.

He glanced to Crane, part of him nearly turning to grab the first aide kit shoved away in the kitchen when the ludicrous nature of the idea hit him like a storm. He laughed, a snort really, to himself, taking a moment before speaking in calm tones.

"Then we'll just throw him back in the gutter where he belongs." The man twitched and Harvey smiled jaggedly at him.

The Joker grinned and made absolutely no effort to remove himself from Crane's lap, reaching only to tug the pen from his thigh and apply pressure with his hand. "Aw, I kinda wanted to, uh, keep him. Like a pet! Until Hades stopped complaining, that is."

Thinking it over for a minute, he glanced at his knife and decided that that just wouldn't do. He leaned in to Crane, reaching his hand up to press at the wound in his shoulder, putting pressure to slow the bloodloss - and then he curled his hand and pressed his thumb into the open wound with a hiss of glee. This was fun!

Were it not for halfway expecting something, Crane would've shrieked; instead it was a strained noise of discomfort and his hand shot up to grasp his wrist, the other then to his throat, squeezing, wanting to feel his windpipe collapse beneath the pressure of his fingers and the heel of his palm-- and with surprising calm, he breathed, "Stop it."

Harvey's glanced wandered from the living corpse to the pair, nearly rolling his eyes. With a quick step he was beside them again, this time grabbing both their wrists and pulling them apart - the choking and thumb within the wound - with a low growl.

"I said enough." He grasped both their wrists tightly enough to bruise, good eye narrowed as he turned to the Joker. "Off."

The Joker cackled as best he could with Crane's hand in a vice-grip around his neck, gasping for air when Harvey removed it (and his own hand, too bad). He leaned in and licked at Crane's face, or at least just in front of it, before rolling off of Crane's lap and onto the gurgling mess below.

"Eugh," he grumbled, kicking at the corpse as he stood, brushing himself off and subtly favoring his wounded leg. "That's no fun, Crane. Why don't you ever have anything when I want it?"

[rl] Harvey, the Joker and Crane

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject