Thread: Batman: The Old Knight

Closed . Ah. Home sweet home. So much space! So much room! And the walls aren't padded so you can bang your head off of them all day and do yourself as much damage as you like. Oh... this is the life. He was a man of theatrics, with a laugh that struck fear in to the city. He was unpredictable, dangerous, insane. For years, he had terrorised Gotham City with his murderous rampages, and that gas that he used -- the toxin with horrible side-effects. The citizens knew him as the Joker. And he missed the meetings with his old, retired foe -- Batman. Removing his trench-coat, the Joker tossed it to the side and watched as it fluttered a short distance on to the wooden floor of his hideout. Things to do... number one. Buy a new coat-stand. His residence was situated in a long, open-spaced loft on top of an old building in Gotham's Industrial District. At the very end of the room were the large windows that looked north towards the remainder of the city -- and giving him a front-row view of watching his grand plans going in to action. The long walk to the window took him about ten seconds with his slow pace, a noticeable spring in his step -- his worn white suit in need of repair. There was always time for changing outfits later. One of the long walls was decorated with hundreds of newspaper cuttings and photographs of his old pal Batman. Years of writings and ramblings, made up stories and true life tales of how he had foiled another bad guy's scheme. Joker was in plenty of them, but Two-Face, Riddler and various other criminals all had their equal share of the limelight. What saddened him greatly were the ones that told the end of the Dark Knight's story. Pages upon pages of his retirement, and how it would effect Gotham. What would they do now their protector was gone? The articles that celebrated his resignation -- the outspoken members of the press and government -- were all crossed out by the Joker, who frowned upon their words. Where was the fun in committing crime if the big bad Batman wasn't there to spoil the day? In front of the window was what really caught his attention. First, someone had kindly left an old armchair a few yards away from the glass, facing outwards like it were a throne for a King. It was badly scratched up, and was a deep purple colour that seemed to match the Joker's usual bad comical dress sense. On the right arm was a chain, which descended towards the floor. What was attached to the chain was what he was more interested in. Slumping in the chair, the Joker yanked suddenly on the chain to wake his poor prisoner up. Some of his goons had knocked her out and brought the woman here a few days ago, dressed in her cat-outfit and shackling her to the arm-chair which itself was bolted to the ground with a rusty chain that fastened to a thick collar around her neck. It had been tightened just a little too much to be comfortable, and it's length prevented her from actually climbing on to the chair. Rope around her wrists also restricted her movement, while a pair of cat dishes -- one with water, the other with what appeared to be cat food it's true identity was a mystery, but it was perfectly safe to eat would help any hunger or thirst. Eventually Joker let the chain go, allowing her to breath once more. He leaned over, keeping his head inches away from the maximum distance she could reach with those claws of hers. Wake up Kitty... Joker's home.