"No. You're anything but good."
When his batty friend had finally returned the Joker had been sitting on his bed with his bare feet tucked snuggly underneath him as HUMMED softly as he gently rocked back and forth. PATIENTLY waiting for Batman to show that finely chiseled face of his. He was wearing the same clothes from the day previous. A purple shirt and dark green sweatpants. However, his eccentric choice of colors was not what would have caught someone’s ATTENTION. The Joker’s face was naked. Not even the grayish streaks of white greasepaint remained. Batman had confiscated the Jokers makeup a month ago and the clown had been without it ever since. Going this long without his face made him feel - he wouldn’t go so far as to say UNCOMFORTABLE, but it was definitely beginning to cause him some MINOR discomfort. In Arkham, he had simply ignored the feeling. Usually, he did this by finding new and creative ways to cause mischief. Which is what he HAD BEEN doing.
The Bat must have been ANTICIPATING something out of the ordinary when he keyed himself into the room - or maybe all their extra time spent together had simply made Batman even more TUNED into the Jokers moods because he gave the Joker one glance before asking if everything was alright. At first, Joker had brushed off his question. “Allll gooood.” He had drawled lazily, NOWHERE near in the mood to be psychoanalyzed by a guy in bat tights.
"No. You’re anything but good.“
The Joker raised his eyebrows. “Really?” He mouthed, making sure to exaggerate each syllable. Funny how Batman seemed to THINK he knew the Jokers MIND only when it was convenient. Under most circumstances, the Joker would agree. Nobody knew Joker better than Batman, except maybe Joker himself.
Joker turned his back to Batman, for once not in the mood for his other half’s company. With a MOODY unintelligible grumble, he slid off the bed, long legs unfolding from their criss-cross position with the grace that should have been foreign to such a destructive being.
His tongue traced over the JAGGED inside of his cheek thoughtfully as he fidgeted aimlessly with the trinkets on the oak wood desk that rested beside his bed. His eyes wandered around the room, searching fruitlessly for something, ANYTHING to make him, the Joker, feel like THE JOKER. Finally, in silent defeat, with his eyes FIXED on the floor he turned back to Batman.
He was TIRED of this game. TIRED of being holed up in this house hidden away from HIS city. Joker MISSED Gotham. He MISSED the smog-filled skies. He MISSED how his name was ALWAYS lingering threateningly in the back of every Gothamites mind. But most of all he MISSED being The Joker, Clown Prince of Crime, and Agent of Chaos. According to the Bat, Joker had spent ALMOST a year HOLED up out here being “treated”. Miraculously they had both managed to keep up their end of the BARGAIN with only MINIMAL bloodshed (a temporary setback). However, it wasn’t until Batman had taken his greasepaint that any noticeable CHANGES had taken place. A MONTH without his WARPAINT passed and his discomfort had grown with each day that passed. He had begun to feel different. At first, he had IGNORED it. However, the feeling had only continued to GROW. Which made increasingly hard to ignore it. He felt as if he were being consumed on the inside. Like a terrible ITCH that could never be scratched. It was a maddening sensation and over the course of the next few WEEKS, it had taken a considerable TOLL on his mood.
“Tell me, since you’re such a, uh, exper-t on what I’m feel-ing. En-lighten me,” he WELCOMED, spreading his arms wide. His dark eyes, PITLESS, dark eyes STARED unblinkingly as they searched the STONY face of the caped crusader. When he wasn’t offered an answer his lip TWITCHED irritably. “Hmmm? I’m wait-ing,” he stepped TOWARD the Bat with his head tilted up curiously. “Welllll.” He barked, “you, ah, just gonna stand there?” He DIDN’T give him a CHANCE to respond as a well-aimed fist connected with the right side of Batman’s face. “Come on, Batsy!” He barked LOUDLY, as clenched fists hands trembled by his side with RAGE and a mix of other emotions he could not BEGIN to explain. With an animalistic growl, the Joker lunged forward using his entire body to attack. Fisted hands SWUNG, bare feet KICKED, and teeth bared and ready to BITE and any exposed flesh they could find. The white’s of his eyes were almost completely gone as his pupils dilated into black orbs. There was a MANIC glint in his eyes as he was CONSUMED by the desire to see Batman on his unmasked, bloody, and bruised.