The Nun's Date pt. 1
Apr. 28th, 2009 04:53 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tinhuvielThe Nun’s Date
Rock steady baby! That’s what I feel now. Let’s call this song exactly what it is. Step n’move your hips with a feeling from side to side. Sit yourself down in your car and take a ride.
Maybe he should steal a car for that sole purpose, just to live out this song in all its glory….
And while you’re movin’, rock steady, rocky steady baby. Let’s call this song exactly what it is (what it is what it is what it is).
“What it is, doooood?” He growled almost in a friendly tone at some hapless passerby, who shimmied from side to side himself, trying to avoid the Joker’s gangster stroll down 5th and Fascination in Gotham City. The Joker cackled at his fumbling efforts and just kept on rocking steady.
He liked Aretha Franklin. He really did.
It’s a funky and low down feelin’ (what it is). In my hips from left to right (what it is). What it is is I might be doin’ (what it is) this funky dance all night Ohh! (Let me hear ya gotta feelin’ in the air, gotta feelin’ an’ ain’t got a care).
That was the Joker. He rocked steady to the sound of his beloved iPod, the buds pressed firmly in his ears, relishing every step of freedom since extricating himself from that cesspool, Arkham Asylum. He had that feelin’ and didn’t have a care. Instead of his usual trudge, the Joker strutted and he did so with conviction. Even though his shoulders were still a little hunched over, he still moved much easier and with less menace when Aretha sang to him. There was another song on the iPod that mentioned the Gangster Stroll and that’s what he liked to call what he was doing now. Everyone who was anyone, even though most everyone was a no one, knew that when the Joker emerged from Arkham, it was truly and indeed the “Rebirth of Slick,” because that’s how J rolled.
Mister J was on the prowl, for what what or whom he knew not. It had been about a week since his escape from Arkham and he’d yet to have a Date Night, so maybe it was time for a little debauchery. He had actually broken into the Wayne Manor a couple of nights after his Arkham break. He stole into Bruce Wayne’s bedroom and watched him sleep. Even in slumber, the man’s arrogance and lack of understanding to the real world just screamed out into the dark night. He watched with a kind of fascination the man he and a handful of fellow Gothamites knew as the iconic Batman lie prone in an opulent bed that seemed somehow the most uncomfortable place in the world to sleep. On the nightstand sat an invitation list that Wayne had obviously been perusing before he fell into an uneasy sleep. Studying it, J was pleasantly surprised to see the address at which he was currently staying on the list of invitees. How very appropriate! But back to business…the Joker remembered what he whispered in the darkness to his nemesis unmasked.
“So this is what you do with your nights now that the city whose honour you so loved to defennnd has you at the top of its Most Wanted List? Maybe you need a vacation across the way,” he’d said, nodding in the direction of Arkham Asylum. “I hear a new cell recently emptied. In faaaaact,” he squinted. “I think I see a ‘vacancy’ sign flickering in the distance. Herrre’s their number, should you feel the urge to take the big Them up on their offer. He placed a photograph of Dr. Arkham all dolled up in sketchy Joker scrawl with Arkham Asylum’s 24-hour help line written on the back on Bruce’s night stand. For effect, he added some nicely done ‘hahaHAHAhahaHAhaHA’s’ in red scribble all over the back of the photo. Something told J that Bruce-y Boy would be thrilled to bits to see his favourite hobby back out on the town, if that was actually how Batsy saw J. And something told him that’s exactly how Bruce saw…Jack.
Now it was time to find a date for whatever black-and-white function Wayne would be sending an RSVP to the Joker. Hm….black-and-white…. The Joker looked up and God spoke to him. He had a vision! There stood a church across from Bruce’s penthouse at the same time “Serial Thrilla” blasted through his earbuds and into the Joker’s tumbling brain. What better person to take to a black-and-white fancy-schmancy pinky-in-the-air-whilst-sipping-expensive-champagnes tếte-a-tếte than a….nun! The Joker was, after all, a “youth corruptah” and a “crowd disruptah.” He could kill two birds with one stone by taking a nun, who already had her black-and-white motif down pat, to a function that would definitely be disrupted by his presence. Then, afterward, he could take his babysnakes, Sister Whateverhernamewouldbe in the name of his holiness on high, to the heights of a passion she probably would never know in Christ, at least not in the way he was planning on expressing that particular passion.
The Joker lived for epiphanies such as these. And an epiphany this one definitely was. He left the photo on Wayne’s bedside table and snuck out of the bedroom to let his favourite caped crusader get the restless sleep he so very deeply deserved.
Before he knew it, the Joker was standing in front of Our Lady of the Holy Waters. It was a lovely church, softly lit in the background to enhance the stained glass for the enjoyment and supposed inspiration to passersby. It made the Joker….horny. Just thinking about that tender nun flesh made him tingly all over, like the Catholic school boy he once was what seemed ages ago. He took the earbuds out of his ears and put his iPod on pause, stuffing it amongst the knives and lint in his right vest pocket, as he skipped up the church steps and opened the wooden doors wide to reveal all the holiness the church had to offer him. All he got was a whiff of something musty. Probably some 400-year-old nun teacher who refused to give up the ghost because she got too much enjoyment out of whacking the children for blinking their eyes too many times in class. He remembered that kind all too well.
At the front of the church was a young, red-haired, wimple-less nun, properly on her knees in the pew, staring at the statue of the Virgin Mary. It was extremely late for anyone to be in the sanctuary, but the Joker seemed to have hit pay dirt, especially if this nun didn’t turn around with a huge hairy wart dangling from her eyelid. He stepped lightly up the middle of the church and knelt down beside the nun, clasping his hands together in mock prayer. She turned and started with surprise at the visage before her, but her vow to be nonjudgmental took over and she returned to her silent prayer.
“Hello,” the Joker said in his deepest and most soothing voice. The girl was ravishing, face devoid of any make-up, a small smattering of freckles adorning her cheeks. Her green eyes, wide with the initial surprise, cut her eyes from the Holy Virgin to return her serene gaze back to the Joker.
“Hello. May I help you with something?”
“Oh yes, uh— “ the Joker prompted the nun to give him her name with a swift lift of his eyebrows.”
“Sister Agnes.”
“Agnes. What a delightful name. Yours? Or Church-appointed?”
“That’s my name before Christ. Before I took my vows, I was Eileen.”
“Nice Scots-Irish name,” the Joker commented wryly. “Much prettier than Aaaagnes.” And he clicked his tongue to accent his dislike. “Hey, mind if I call you Eileen?”
The nun lowered her eyes, then glanced at him mischievously. “If you wish. I always liked Eileen, but my calling was stronger.”
“And how strong is your conviction now, Eileen?” the Joker purred, moving closer to the young nun, taking in her clean soap smell and the modest shampoo used to cleanse her orange-red hair.
“Strong enough,” she murmured, returning her eyes to the lifeless stare of the Virgin Mary and absently moving the prayer beads from finger to thumb.
“But….maybe weak enough to go on an adventure with me?”
The movement of the beads ceased. This girl was way too young to be a nun. “What…sort…of an adventure?”
“Ohhhh, a little soiree up at the Wayne Manor in a day or so. He should be sending me an RSVP but, in the event he doesn’t, we may just have to crash the party. I’d love to have a date for the occasion and you fit the bill perfectly, since I’m sure it’ll be one of those black-n-white functions. Most of your wardrobe already fits the bill, I’m betting.”
Eileen smiled mischievously. “I’m not supposed to leave the convent after curfew.”
“Ohhhhh, pish posh. Whoever didn’t cut curfew every once in a while, especially at what I’m guessing to be your tender age? It’ll do you some good to get out of this musty old place and away from that teacher who likes to pour her derision upon every poor kid who is herded through this godforsaken place.”
“H-how did you know about Sister Mary-Catherine?”
“Oh, every one of these places has a Sister Mary-Catherine. So…will you go with me?”
“What’s with the clown make-up?” the nun asked suspiciously.
“I like to bring smilesss to people’s faces wherever I go. My motto is why so serious-s? So I try to leave them laughing….or at least smiling as widely as I can musterrr.”
“That’s very generous of you,” Eileen said.
“If youuu saaay so…” The Joker sang. He lifted his dark eyebrows at her again, raising them a ridiculous amount, almost to his hairline, as he lowered his head and nodded. “So?”
“So?”
“Will ya?”
“Will…I….?”
“Go with me? It’s to Wayne Manor, up the hill. Very top of the line, I assure you.”
“W-when?”
“In a day or so.” The Joker lifted his brown eyes in thought. “Coupla days at most. Whenever the invitation comes through. Shall I pick you up herrrre?”
Sister Agnes glanced about with furtive eyes. “No. Out back, where the convent is. I’ll meet you there in white and black, of course.”
“I’ll have my driver pick you up. I’ll be sitting in the back, all doodied up, as they say. Don’t be surprised if I’m still in clown make-up, though. I’m a tad attached to it.”
“And what’s your name?”
“Just call me Mister J. Now watch for me in a couple of nights. A fancy black car will roll up and I’ll be in back. Just get in and off to opulence we’ll ride!”
A silence formed between them as the Joker studied Eileen’s pretty fresh face. He ducked his head and drew his eyebrows together. “You don’t really want to be a nun, do you?”
“I heard the calling.”
“You sure it wasn’t just some paperboy hawking his wares one morning?”
“No, really.”
“I don’t believe you. We’ll find out soon enough, sweet cheeks. See you soon.”
And, with that, the Joker was off, once again strutting down the street to Aretha, wondering what car so lift and what henchman to drive it come Bruce’s fawncy event.
Sure as the shining sun the invitation came. Well, it came to the previous inhabitant of the Joker’s current lair. “Well, lookie here Leopold! A black-tie event and it encourages you to bring a date. Looks likes Sister Ubiquita of Our Lady of the Fuzzy Knuckles is in for a big surprise. Hey Sidney! Go get us a nice Limo! I’m going out on a hot date tomorrow and I want to go in style, so don’t fuck this up, you hear me? I will kill you and feed you to the chickens, I swear! I don’t have chickens, but I’ll get some just so I can feed you to them, don’t you think I won’t!”
Scrambling in the other room assured J that his demands would be met. He smiled and debated on whether or not to wear the war paint. If he did, all hell would break loose and Date Night would be cut short, more than likely with no happy ending. If he didn’t, he’d have to depend on Eileen’s Christian convictions to prevent her from running the other way when she saw his facial disfigurement. Again, an unhappy ending. He finally decided not to wear the war paint and take his chances.
The next night came and Sidney didn’t disappoint. He pulled ‘round to the front in a shiny black Limosine. The Joker emerged out the front door in the dandiest tuxedo a man could possibly wear. Even his bow tie was legit instead of being one of those water-squirting or, even better, acid-squirting specials. “Slick, boss, slick.”
“This is a special one, Sidney. Can’t go half way.”
“What about the war paint, though?”
“Don’t question me, Sidney. Just….don’t.” The Joker got into the back of the car. “Now drive.”
“Where to?”
“Our Lady of the Holy Waters on Fascination Street,” the Joker replied. “Ah-ta-ta-ta-ta-ta! I said don’t question me, Sidney. Drrrrriv-ve.”
Sidney shrugged and drove. He passed the intersection of 5th and Fascination, soon reaching Our Lady of the Holy Waters.”
“Drive around back, to the convent dormitories.”
Sidney did so silently. Standing out in the mist was a lovely young lady in a black dress with a prim white collar. Hardly Wayne fare, but who gave a fuck about what Wayne wanted? When the girl saw the car, she smiled slightly, her eyes widening with nervousness.
The Joker opened the door opposite him. “Hop in, Eileen. Don’t be afraid, it’s me. I just don’t have my w-make-up on. Sorry to alarm you with the scars. I’ll tell you about those later. Let’s go to the party, shall we?”
Eileen smiled and slid in. “Thank you, Mister J.”
Sydney coughed to cover the laughter. “Something wrong, Sidney? Need a slap on the back or something?”
“No boss, I’m okay,” the henchman said, getting it together instantly. “Must’ve swallowed something. Sorry.”
“Ooookay. On to Wayne manor, then.”
The drive was short, fraught with the Joker studying every lovely nuance of Eileen. Nuns. Why hadn’t he sought one out before now? Even when they were ugly, they were beautiful, but this one was ravishing. Her simple beauty illuminated not just the car, but everything around the car. When they pulled up to the front of Wayne Manor, the Joker found himself pleased to escort the damsel out of the Limo. The lady on his arm was the most beautiful girl there and there was no arguing it. He’d kill anyone who dared argue with him on the spot. Just because he didn’t have on his purple overcoat didn’t mean he didn’t carry an arsenal of sharp stabbities in his snazzy tuxedo. One swift move would mean the end of a bevy of dispensables and lots of that pretty red stuff the Joker so admired at one of his special so-called “crime scenes.” He imagined Gil Grissom himself got a hard-on at one of the Joker’s special visitations, and rightly so. Anyone in his right mind would get a hard-on at one of the Joker’s crime scenes. The Joker stopped, knitting his brows, thinking. Then he nodded. Yeah, definitely hard-on material, his crime scenes. He was getting one just thinking about them and all their mad variety.
It didn’t take long before the Joker escorted Eileen through the front door of Wayne Manor as Mr. and Miss Jay Fergeson. Fergeson must have been the previous resident of what was now J Manor. Funny that “Jay” was included in there. Damned coincidental. Even though he got the occasional odd look at his marred features, the Joker and Eileen received nothing but fine compliments on their choice of attire and how well matched they seemed. Eileen was obviously in her seventh heaven, no pun intended, and actually got a tad tipsy on the fine Champagne.
When the time came for them to do the obligatory meet-and-greet with Bruce Wayne, Bruce congenially kissed Eileen’s dainty hand, then enthusiastically shook the Joker’s right hand, squeezing just hard enough to exude a kind of dominance. The Joker shook back just hard enough to show that dominance just wasn’t going to happen with him. Wayne looked at the Joker closely.
“Do I know you?”
“J!” The Joker exclaimed mischievously. “Jay Ferguson and my squeeze here Eileen…Agnes. We’re pleased to make your acquaintance, Misterrr Wayne.”
Wayne looked at him blankly, a spark of recognition sizzling deep in the recesses of his small, deep-set eyes. His smile didn’t match his stare. “Ah, Mr. Ferguson. So nice of you and Eileen to make it here tonight. And thank you so much for your generous contribution to the Gotham anti-Crime Fund. It will really come in more than a little handy. With people like the Joker running about again, we can use all the help we can get these days.”
“AhHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHahahahahaheeheehoho..ho…haaa. Well, that’s why I’m here, you know,to help fight that nast-ty, dirt-ty, crap-py crime.”
Bruce’s fake grin faltered and the Joker’s fake sentiment fizzled. They stared at one another, their hands still locked in a futile fight for dominance. “Well, again, Mr….Fergeson. Thank you and, please, enjoy the party.”
“Thank you, Mr. Wayne. Always a pleasure, I’m sure. I look forward to our meeting again.”
“Me too, Mr. Fergeson. Some other place, some other time, right?” Bruce Wayne nodded and smiled slightly, and he walked off, obviously in a lot of thought. “W-as that - ?”
“In the flesh,” the Joker replied with mock joviality. “Unfortunateleee….” The Joker continued under his breath.” The Joker had this suspicion that Bruce Wayne would look a great deal better outside of his flesh, but the Joker was known even in his own little circles for being a person of unusual tastes. Speaking out loud to his lovely date, the Joker said, “Might I get you some goose paté and crackers, then, Honey Bunny?”
Eileen nodded enthusiastically, and watched appreciatively as the Joker sauntered off to the hors d’œvres table to collect some ingestible material. She wondered about the scars, but noted that they really didn’t deter from the man’s unabashed good looks. Why he wanted to cover it all up with that bizarre clown make-up was a mystery she felt she’d not solve, at least not on this date and, considering she was a nun, she doubted another opportunity such as this would readily present itself. Not for the first time, Eileen found herself regretting hearing that call to religious service and wondering if she ever really heard the call at all. Watching J return with her a small saucer of delicacies, Eileen set her concerns aside for the moment and enjoyed the inebriating combination of flavours on her tongue.
“J, this is wonderful. Thank you so so so much for inviting me.”
“And thank you for taking time out of your busy schedule of adoring Our Lord and Saviour to accompany me. Do you know how hard it is to get a date with a nun?”
“Welllll….I’m not a complete nun, not yet.”
“Ah,” the Joker said in between bites of pulled beef barbecue and sweet potato puff. “So you haven’t taken those final vows yet, eh?”
“No, not yet.”
“So you wouldn’t mind if I try to talk you out of it tonight?”
The nun laughed at the half joke. “Well, you can try.”
Before she knew it, the Joker was on her, his hand around her waist, his lips at her ear. “And try I will, my delicious little Communion Wafer. I wouldn’t be any sort of a man if I didn’t, now would I?” A soft kiss on her ear sent shivers up and down Eileen’s spine. Something about Mister J just set her on the edge of the shivers as it was. A soft kiss merely set them all off at once, much to her sinful delight. What on Earth was she going to do, if Mister J was a man of his word and actually did try to talk her out of her final vows? What would she do, really? A niggling voice in the back of her head told her what she’d do, and Eileen was altogether certain that this was not the voice of God talking to her. Taking another bit of goose paté on a cracker, she shook her head as much for her own comfort as it was an answer to her silent affirmation as to whose voice it was whispering at the back of her troubled mind.
They danced, they dined, they had wonderful conversation about the ways of the world and how God was lacking in today’s moral fibre. They hob-nobbed with Gotham’s so-called finest and basked in the glory of Bruce Wayne’s seemingly endless wealth. It was like a story out of a fairy-tale for Eileen until her date withdrew a small pistol from his tuxedo and announced to the party, “Good-d ev-en-ning, nice people!”
He shot the gun into the air, a deafening and paralyzing sound to everyone, including the novice nun. Withdrawing a rag from his breast pocket, the Joker revealed the clown war paint that rested underneath the flesh-coloured make-up he’d applied. Lies upon lies upon lies he enjoyed with the application of layers upon layers of face paint. What was real? What wasn’t? Who knew? Who cared?
Right now everyone at the Wayne soirée cared. The only thing that made them care was gunfire. Guns got people’s attention. Knives kept it. That was one of the Joker’s many Life’s Lessons. Write it down somewhere. Write and learn: Guns get people’s attention. Knives keep it.
“And how doooo you doooo,” the Joker said, waving the gun about carelessly as he located a large blade from the back of his tuxedo. “Joker here, crashing yet another one of Bruce-y Boy’s happy little fundage brouhahas. No real reason for this one except-t just to piss off the little rich boy and maybe get the attentionnn of….the Bat-t.”
The Joker looked around and saw the alarmed expression on Eileen’s face. “Oh no no no no no! No!” The Joker shook his head vigourously, his green locks bouncing around with enthusiasm. “Don’t you dare be frightened, little one. You’re my Date. You’ve nothing to fear from me.”
The Joker clutched his chest for effect. “You’re my beloved little innocent one in all this miasma of fakery and idiocy. No. Don’t think you’re in any sort of trouble here at Bruce’s par-tay.” He raised his voice. “The only ones who should be worried are the ones who don’t drop their supposed ‘precious heirlooms’ being worn about their wrists, necks, and on their ears in this here little gunny sack I just happen to appropriately be toting here in one of my many tuxedo pockets. I can’t always rob the mob. Then again…..you people could be considered a mob…a mob of morons, more like it. Just drop your dollops right in there, thank you!”
Eileen stood to one side, aghast at what she was seeing. But something inside her quivered with a mad, bad excitement as well. This pleased the devilish part of her soul, may the spirit of God overcome it! She fought a muted smile.
“Hey, Eileen,” the Joker murmured in her ear, sensing the mischief being born. “Would you like to hold the bag, collect the booty, feel the weight of ill-gotten wealth? Doubly ill-gotten wealth? ‘Cos don’t even think these fools got theirs by any reputable means.”
The Joker cackled and waggled a blade in the face of a middle-aged woman wearing very bad lipstick. “Your lipstick is too pink, too dry, and way too young for a face as old and ugly as yours, toots. Here,” the Joker produced a handkerchief. “Wipe that ghastly shit off before I cut off your fucking lips, you wretched old bit of cat sick. Now, take those tacky diamond ear-rings off those elephant ears of yours and place them here in my lovely nun’s bag o’booty.”
Eileen found herself extending the Joker’s gunny sack and giggling quietly while the frightened woman deposited her ear-rings and swiftly smeared her lipstick off her face with the Joker’s handkerchief. “You’re a terrible man!” The woman exclaimed. “You won’t get away with this!”
“Oh, but I will! Do you see your gracious host anywhere? Probably hiding in a cave somewhere, shaking in his leotards, the freak. And the Batman, well…. he’s not a very popular hero at the moment, now is he? He’d probably kill half the people here just trying to get at me. That’s what’s called killing the patient to cure the cancer, that’s what that is. It’d be easier on all of you just to hand over what you think may be of worth and count your blessings that Bats didn’t show. Eileen, is that bag nice and heavy? Good-good-good. I think it’s time to bid these fine people adieu. And a don’t, as in, don’t call the police at least until my lovely date and I can reach the first floor of this godawful testament to too much money referring, of course, to this Wayne high rise monstrosity. Be a sport, how about?” The Joker smiled widely and displayed a particularly shiny portion of his knife to a young man who seemed to be pretty impressed by the whole charade. The Joker nodded and grinned knowingly at this anarchist in the making. Something told him that this guy may show up as a henchman someday.
“Eileen, this way,” the Joker herded his nun to the elevator. “Time to take our date to another level compleeeeetely.”
