Joke's on Damian

August 09, 2015:

Damian Wayne comes looking for the Joker. And finds him.

Warehouse in Queens

It had been a Russian Mob drug distribution center. Until very recently.


NPCs: Clownz



Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

The Joker has been at whiles in New York. Gotham got boring. That's the sad truth of it. New York? Well it's not boring yet. So many colorful capes and costumes many of them much more obliging than the Bat. Of course he's made a fair splash on the news so everyone knows that he's haunting the Big Apple these days. A lot of people have been grumbling about gotham problems coming to New York.

At present the Joker is in a warehouse in queens. It had been a drug drop off for the Russian Mob. It's not anymore, as evidenced by the bloodstains. The bodies are gone, his people are taking care of them and the Joker is considering it all. The street value of the drugs isn't of much interest to him. If he wanted money he'd rob a bank. But the entertainment value of them, well, that's something entirely different.


The problems of Gotham are coming to New York, but luckily for the Big Apple, it's not just the rogues gallery. Along with the bad, a problem child who doubles as a savior has come north to do what the brightly colored capes will not…

It didn't take much for Damian to find the warehouse he was looking for. Just a few weeks ago this warehouse had drugs going in and out and now it looks dead, or at least is filled with the dead. The trail of blood led Damian here and now he's on an adjacent roof, eyes peeled behind a mask.


Damian fires his grapple gun through an upstairs window and smashes through into the rafters, not interested in making a stealthy entrance. As he crashes through the window he barrel rolls onto a catwalk and then presses a small clicker on his utility belt, firing off an EMP to create darkness where light existed before.

Black Robin has arrived.


The lights go out to the sound of a sigh from the Joker. "Bats. Has to be Bats. Only they go for the darkness trick stright up." Moving in the darkness and remarkably well abeit with a bump and a knock ehre and there, the Joker makes for… something. Center of the warehouse is where he seems to be going and by the gleam in the light he's armed with either a knife or a gun or both. Well, the Joker does tend to be armed and that's a bit tame where he's concerned.


This 'BAT' is armed too, and he shoots and stabs to kill…

With a little movement down below, Damian slowly makes his way around the catwalk and with his attuned eyes he drops down onto one of the thugs. He puts an elbow into the man's temple and lets the sack of potatoes down easily. "

Damian calls through the darkness with annoyance in his young, and attempted gruff voice, "Do you think Batman would come to New York City? He doesn't care about you."

Damian moves beyond a few sorting tables and downs another thug, this time breaking a neck. As he edges around the target to end all targets, Damian silently draws his katana and then crouches beside an old radiator.


There's still the sound of noise near the center of the warehouse. One of the crates gets pried open and then there's the sound of something getting cut. Like a burlap sack. Only… wetter. "Care? Hah! There's a punchline. That old Bat doesn't care about anything. I suppose your'e here because you do care? Are you the bleeding heart Bat? Or are ya looking to make a splash with ol' Mistah J?"


Damian snarls from his crouch and then jumps forward, over a sorting table, and into close quarters with the intended target. Without taking a second he takes a swipe at the leg of ol'Mistah J and grunts, "You'll be bleeding when this over!"


The second thug goes down and there's another ripping sound in the center of the warehouse. And then the flick of a lighter. In a minute or so a thick, heavy, cloying smoke is spreading through the hole place. It smells sweet rather than smokey and is accompanied by sinister laughter. "Soooooooo… the Bat always kind of liked this trick. I don't normally do hallucinogens, well, LSD I guess. But this? Oh this stuff's fun Let's see what you think."


Damian takes down another clown, but not the one he wanted and then his eyes go wide as the fire starts. Not wanting to close in on the growing flames, because of the target's known love for chemicals, the katana gets put away.

As shadows flicker all around, Damian calls through the building smoke, "If you know the Bat like you say you do, you'd know he's not…" As the gruff-sounding words come out, the lights stretch longways, but not in the usual way.

Damian grits his teeth as he pulls his pistol out. This stuff isn't as fun as they say. Damian rushes forward, through the stretching lights and into the presence of the real ol'mistah J.

Before his father's greatest enemy he utters as he raises the pistol as the flame begins wrapping around the bodies of both men, "I'm not Batman…"


"No, you're not." The Joker says, raising his own pistol. And he fires. But he's not aiming to kill, oh no. Hurting people. Hurting people is much more fun. A dead victim can't feel pain. Can't provide entertainment. Can't realize the futility of everything in a single delicious despairing moment. But someone who's hurt can be hurt over, and over and over again. And physical pain is just the very tip of that iceberg.


Joker's pistol hammers down first, and barely misses Damian's stomach, instead grazing the Son of the Bat's wrist as he flips to the left. Damian fires his own pistol from his new position and then coughs as he has jumped closer to the growing fire, breathing in a heavy dose of smoke.

Damian blinks a few times as the room swirls for a moment. As of now he knows his eyes are betraying him, just as they did when his grandfather put him through similar paces…

Moving away from the fire, Damian drops his pistol and heads for a darkened beam, which sidles up to as he calls out almost nervously, "You aren't the adversary the Bat suggested you were. Is the joke on me or do you only play tricks?"


The Joker's voice sounds distorted now. There's clowns moving in from a distance, armed with guns. The Joker stalks the smoke without fear. He long since became immune to the simple tricks of chemicals on the mind. Or maybe his own minds tricks are simply better.

The pale man stops to wipe some blood off his arm. He's hit. Well, winged on the bicep. Good shot. Probably better if the young Bat hadn't been flipping when he took it.

"Oh the joke's not on you yet…" Where'd he g- ah there he is. The Clown Prince pushes on a stack of crates, sending them tumbling down at Damian and then follows them, knife in hand, a silent, pale ghost in the smoke. Well, silent for a moment. Until he comes into range and cackles with glee as he slashes at Damian.


While drawing his katana, Damian pushes out from the beam he hid beside and comes immediately upon a slash from the Joker. Damian's suit takes the slash across the chest, which doesn't cut through at first glance. Pulling back Damian sweeps around with his feet, deciding not to use his katana just yet. Whatever the Joker has in the air is odd, maybe not quite LSD, but it's not quite regular smoke either.

"Hit me!"

Damian presents himself to his father's greatest enemy and wants the worst he can offer.


The Joker takes the opportunity… to stab. He comes in low and aiming for the thigh to cut and rip. Hobble the opponent first. And then play with them. "Really, even the Bat isn't that nutty. And they call me crazy." He cackles. "Or is the smoke getting to you? Little Bat doesnt' like the fire?" He doesn't stay in front of Damian with that sword for long… which is good because the sweep knocks him into a tumble and he comes back up, high with the butt of the knife, aiming for the head.


The slashes, cuts and bumps don't strike true until Damian takes the butt of the knife to his forehead, an annoying strike if there ever was one. The dark Robin grumbles as he pushes forward with his shoulder now, coming into closer quarters with the Joker, bringing his katana around to close off another sweeping cut. No, Damian doesn't like the fire and how the smoke has made him feel. He's off his game tonight, there's no other excuse.


The cut slices within a fraction of an inch of Joker's belly, cutting the jacket he's wearing. The madman cackles and slips to Damians right, coming back in with the knife. To call the Joker trained would be a mistake. But he's unpredictable, dangerous and more than willing to push his physical limits. His foot comes up to kick and then stamp. His shoes are metal plated… yes that does mean he's wearing tap shoes. Or, something like them. At least on the toe.

The knife comes in again. Now aiming for the arm, and then a heabutt. "Slow, little Bat. Maybe you should go back to big daddy bat and see if he has other tricks to teach you."


Damian sidesteps the kick and stomp from the tap-shoed jokester, and then avoids a slash with a lean forward, which plays right into the headbutt. Damian stumbles and somehow keeps his prized katana in his hand. With a grunt Damian flicks a trio of exploding pepper balls to the ground as he groggily rolls up onto a sorting table covered in mobster blood. The little bat takes out his other grappling hook and fires it into the upper reaches of the warehouse and rises out of reach of the fire, and into the heavy smoking collecting up towards the roof.


The Joker stumbles back as one of the balls explodes at his feet. It stings. And burns. And makes it hard to see. Which does not prevent him from producing a compact little machine pistol and shooting wildly up in Damians direction. A number of times. Unloading the clip and then doing it again. "On the roof. Get 'im." He calls out and the clowns open up on those steel rafters as well.


Damian keeps moving as he comes upon the catwalk, everything becoming odd and swirly as he runs along. A bullet hits his leg and he hobbles to his original entrance point and fires the last grappling hook he has out the broken window. He looks back down at growing fire in the middle of the warehouse as he's pulled out and snarls as the Joker wins this round…

"You'll be mine next time…"

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