Beast

A/N: I do not own the Joker or any Batman characters, they belong to DC comics and Warner Bros.  This is an explicit story full of violence and coarse language, so you have been *warned*1

[Rachel's POV]2

I’ve never been so terrified in my life. There are men everywhere, big, beefy men wearing clown masks and jabbing people with sawed-off shotguns. They roar at all of us to “SHUT THE FUCK UP OR WE’LL BLOW YOUR FUCKING HEADS OFF!” I can hear women screaming, crying, and pleading for their lives as they hold on to their terrified, ashen-faced husbands. The Joker waltzes into the middle of the room like a pimp, his bright purple coat swirling behind him, a gloved plum-colored hand holding something, something metal and shiny…it looks like a .44 Magnum. I get the sick, twisted feeling in my gut that he plans on having “fun” with us, and to a monster like him “fun” would include brain matter and bits of skull splattered all over Bruce’s penthouse. 3

“Goooood Evening ladies and gentlemen! We’re tonight’s entertainment!” 4

Everyone watches, horrified, as the Joker grabs a wine glass off the table and tosses his head back in a dramatic swig, gulping it down like the animal he is so crimson red liquid trickles down his chin. He wipes it off with the back of his gloved hand, smearing the ruby red lipstick. I realize that he’s wearing that garish make-up to hide the puckered, hideous flesh of his Glasgow smile, and just the thought of it makes me want to vomit. An elderly man shakes his head in disgust as the Joker attacks the appetizers, chomping on shrimp and smacking loudly in people’s faces, not caring that they crawl away from him, sickened to be in the presence of such a lewd, vulgar FREAK who doesn’t have the decency to keep his fucking mouth closed as he eats. Hiding behind a huge, smelly woman with an ass the size of a semi I’m watching the Joker with an almost morbid fascination. He glares at us all with kohl-stained eyes like we’re rich, spoiled pigs who don’t give a shit about anything but our spa appointments and pedicures. It’s so easy to see a man like him hating people like us, hating how we stare at his scars, secretly pleading for him to put a bag on his head so we don’t have to look at him. 5

“I only have one question. Where is Harvey Dent?”6

Just because I’m rich and pampered doesn’t mean I live in a bubble. After all I am an interim DA, which means I know what goes on in the mob. I’ve seen the wretched, twisted shit Maroni’s men do to their victims, all the throats they’ve slit, the skulls they’ve busted open, the bodies they’ve sliced and diced like carrot sticks, severed heads found in freezers and dumps. The Joker hates the mob. He doesn’t kill for money or pleasure, he just wants to send a message. 7

The fat lady I’m hiding behind needs some serious deodorant. There are dark half-moons under her armpits and she smells like sweat, stale pizza and something else, something rotten. Breathing through my mouth now, I continue to watch the Joker as he slithers around the circle of whimpering people like an Anaconda, tongue flicking, ready to swallow us whole. 8

XXX9

 *Warning it gets much, much worse from here.  Not for the squeamish or faint of heart!*10

[Joker’s POV]11

They all stare at me, wide-eyed and sniffing back tears, scared and helpless as little lambs before the big bad wolf. I can feel their beady rich pig eyes crawling all over my face like worms, focusing on that deeply trenched scar that will forever be engraved there like a pumpkin’s crooked grin, sadistic and terrifying. I wasn’t fucking BORN a scarred-up sideshow that looked like he needed a job at the carnival next to the Bearded Lady or some shit. 12

My father was one evil, pathetic bastard. He didn’t have enough money to support us so he took out his anger on my old lady, threw her around like a raggedy Ann doll and pounded her head into the wall or against the headboard as he fucked her so hard she moaned, no, SQUEALED. She fucking squealed like a whore and daddy LIKED it. He didn’t like it too much when I blew his brains out, and that was the LAST time the fat bastard touched me…13

They’re just blobs of meat moving around, no emotions, no faces, just misshapen bodies as insignificant as paramecium. I’m smiling as I chow down their tasty rich pig food, and even after all these years, seven fucking years, my face still hurts like a bitch. The serrated pink flesh of my grub-like scars burn as I lick them, rubbing my tongue against the inside of my cheek and across my lips, longing to rip ‘em open with a knife ‘cause they itch so fucking bad, like fire ants are crawling all over ‘em or whatever. It suddenly reminds me of my Aunt Gladys, a huge, flabby woman who had terrible eczema all over her arms and legs. She would scratch them all the time, leaving behind deep red streaks full of white flakes. The harder she scratched the grosser they got, but she always told me that no matter what medication she took or how many doctors she went to it never went away, it just kept spreading like wildfire all over her fat, nasty body. That’s what it feels like with my scars, like I have eczema in my fucking MOUTH. 14

“You know where Harvey is? You know who he is?” I’m jabbing the meat blobs with my Magnum, hoping to get an answer. There’s this short, curvy little bitch with platinum blonde hair and big blue eyes sobbing like the pathetic cunt she is. Just the sound of it makes my cock spring up like a totem pole and I’m panting like a Saint Bernard. Y’see, that’s the only bad thing about being an apathetic mass murderer; you have no time to FUCK. I think the last time I got laid was about three weeks ago, and I had to bang a chick who nearly weighed three hundred fucking POUNDS ‘cause that’s the only kind of gal you can get with a face like mine. Ever since these pompous mob fucks started getting up my ass about their money I barely had time to BREATHE let alone screw. I’ve always been more of a chubby chaser, yanno? I prefer my women fleshy and round, with rosy cheeks and healthy appetites, not those skinny yard stick cunts that bitch and moan about their weight every five fucking minutes. Fat girls are by far my favorite playthings, the nastiest in bed and most fun to squeeze. I can’t help myself. Whenever I see a full-figured Marilyn Monroe my cock gets as hard as a sixteen-year-old boy’s does when he flips through a skin mag for the first time. If you ask me I’d say women are just good for sex, cooking, and cleaning—domestic things. The ideal wife is a meaty, cheerful little bitch who’s a chef in the kitchen and a porn star in bed. If I get bored, or suspect she’s cheatin’, I just give her a pretty little smile before disposal. The last bitch that cheated on me I stuffed in a suitcase, well, MOST of her. The head I fed to my pooches ‘cus they were hungry and I’m not one for animal cruelty. If you have a dog it’s your responsibility to feed it, even if that means severed heads. 15

“You know where I can find Harvey? I need to talk to him about something. Just something, a little.” The raisin-skinned old geezer is too choked up to speak; his eyes are bugging out like a cartoon so I just shake him back and forth by his wrinkly bald head. “No…” 16

Jesus, am I talking to a bunch of fucking vegetables here? If only someone could pipe up, be a hero; give me something to work with. Irritated, I stomp around the room, towering over them, smelling their fear and disgust, my cock so hard now it almost fucking HURTS. I’ve always hated how stupid these normal “civilized” people are, the way they look at me with their mouths all agape like fish outta water, staring at my gun and then my face, then back at the gun as I wave it around like a magic wand. 17

Hmm…who to shoot, who to shoot, who to shoot…18

My mother had always been a moody woman. Nothing ever made that miserable cunt smile, not music, puppies, candy, pearl necklaces, or all the money in the fucking world. She was just BORN pissed, and no matter what my old man did she never smiled. Ever.19

But, one day, when he was cutting the cake for my sixteenth birthday, he decided to take some family photos. Now, in order to have his wife smiling in the birthday pictures, he took the knife, stuck it in the corner of her mouth, and carved a big, beautiful smile to match her be-eauti-ful face. 20