2671/Admiration of Fine Art

Admiration of Fine Art
Date of Scene:	02 October 2017
Location:	An art gallery in Gotham City
Synopsis:	At an art gallery to add a little something to her collection, Catwoman encounters the last person she'd have expected: the Joker.
Cast of Characters:	Catwoman, Joker

---

Catwoman has posed:
She stood in front of the kitschy painting that depicted cats that were trying to play cards, only in contrast to the famous one with the dogs, the felines were in various states of laziness and sleep, a huge mess made of the cards themselves.

"Such authenticity. Good attention to detail."

It'd been weeks since Catwoman's last major heist, the one that led to the pair of Bastet sculptures that fetched a fine price on the black market, the ones Indiana Jones had recovered, lost right in front of him, and probably already sought to get back in his possession again.

It'd been weeks and Catwoman was getting bored of behaving. This particular art display was very low on security, especially compared to the museum, but even picking a few locks helps to keep that skill well-honed. "The kids will love this, unless they just claw it up first." How cute. She calls her cats 'kids.'

All that's left is to reach up and remove the frame from the wall.

Joker has posed:
It's quiet. Calm. Serene. The night air is cool. Many people sleep soundly in thier beds after working like suckers, others suckered into sleep by a squirt of gas to the face. The air is still. Like the few security cameras that have suddenly given up the will to live. Wonder how that happened?

There are many ways of going about the same thing. Like opening a front door can be picking a lock, blowing a charge or a little acid to melt the barriers to entry and any ticket fees too! Walking to the security station then down a corridor could be done on your feet with the clippity-cloppity of shoes... or someone could walk on their hands without as much as a whisper of noise.

It'd take a special kind of mind, heavy on the special, to think like that though! Flipping fowards, shoes clapping on the floor, stood behind Catwoman, a voice soft but projected well, like it's that little too close... says, "A little to the left! No!! To the right, your other right, the third right at the lights! Up a bit... down a bit... perfect! You are an artist..." words give way to laughter. Soft and quiet at first then louder. Echoing and resounding all around the room. No three guesses here kiddies who it is...

Catwoman has posed:
That voice.

Hearing it causes the short hairs at the back of Catwoman's neck to go tingly. Fortunately, there's very little skin visible there, if any at all, thanks to the cut of her catsuit and the positioning of the back of the hood she wears when she's 'on the job.'

"Joker." Just a single word spoken at first, the name that strikes fear into so many in Gotham. Would she be counted among them? If she's normal, yes. Perhaps there's a little tightening in the shoulders, her claw-tipped fingers flexing more rigidly than usual as she pauses without making it all the way to the painting.

Instead, she glances over a shoulder while keeping her back to him, enough that he could see one eye behind the lens of her goggles. "I wasn't hanging it up, but I'm sure you already know that. Why are you here?" She must be slipping, unless this is the biggest coincidence of them all. "Batman's supposed to be the one who drops in unannounced, not you." There's an edge to her words, measured and careful.

Joker has posed:
"Admiring all the artful works going on..." Joker sing-songs, then chippers on, "... and by works I mean the current taking of something that you very much want and is so very much more not yours..." He gives a soft, muted, but enthusiastic round of applause, "I wasn't kidding. You really an artist." His ever present smile quirks, "People have called me that but..." the tone switches to that grumble and grim that make an odd cameo, "... usually it's a different context."

Then back to brightness, cheer and joy! "Fatman?" He looks up "Surpised if he could fit in the window up there without literally bringing down the house!" He sweeps from further to closer and adds, "One two many double bat-burgers these days... so, no, he'll be busy getting extra fries and a shake before he gets a shake on here. So you'll have to make do with little ol' me meantime. Oh? Yeah, me, here, why? Didn't I say?" Joker says. He knows he didn't. He's kidding.

Catwoman has posed:
"In case you hadn't noticed before, that's kind of what I do," Catwoman helpfully points out as far as the whole 'taking what's not hers' thing is concerned. This is said as she finally turns the rest of the way to face the Clown Prince of Crime, a hand sliding down to rest at her hip, weight shifted toward that side. The handle of the whip is nearby, the tool itself wrapped around her. Eyes narrow so very slightly at the lower grumblings out of him, which sound like they could be a harbinger of trouble to come.

When the mood returns to Joker making..jokes..she can't help it. Both brows shift up and she asks, almost in disbelief, "Did you just make a fat joke about Batman?" Immediately after that she goes on to add, "And, no. No, you didn't say why you're here." As jolly as he can seem, she hasn't so much as cracked the barest hint of a smile. After all, this is another attempted theft now interrupted.

Joker has posed:
"Oh, come on! Haven't you seen it! Less of a body suit, more of a bat-girdle! Last time he tried to stand on the bat scales it said 'no coach parties'! I've been having to turn running away to jogging away then stopping these days. It's so sad." The Joker exclaims. He looks as she reaches for the whip and he says, with strange seriousness, for him, at any rate, "Now, now... let's not get off on the wrong foot. If I'd come callin' for a maulin' I'd at least have offered you drinks and dinner first..." He laughs again. People not only don't always get the joke... they often don't get who it's FOR. Pay attention kid-a-roos!

"No, as much as I'd love a stay in a cushy hospital with all those tasty medications... I'm here to see if you're in the mood to have a few laughs of a different kind." He chirps. "You can't kid a kidder and I'm the biggest and best anyone'll ever see. We don't just do what we do 'cause it's there, 'cause no one else can... it's because it's fun! Even if no one paid... we'd do it anyway!"

He leans against an exhibit, knocking the glass case on the off, effortlessly scooping it up with his free gloved hand and replacing it upside down breaking the vase inside. "Whooops! ... Butterfingers! THAT... is why I'm here. Object lesson. Catwoman... ? Cats? Kitty McCatty? Help a clown out here! What works for you? And would you work for me? Pick up a few things so I can put on a show? Little delicates that can't get smooshed like that priceless gaudy thing did by some rank amateur..."

Catwoman has posed:
Catwoman still..is not smiling. Does she find /any/thing funny about this? "No, I haven't seen it." She also makes a point of showing her hand is merely /near/ the handle of the whip, not actually grasping it. In fact, the other hand takes up the same position on the opposite side. "I wasn't going for the whip, but something tells me you'd enjoy it if I used it." The talk of meds only verifies this for her. If that isn't enough to cause a lesser person to twitch...

"Actually, I /do/ do this mostly for the money." It's a white lie. A lot of it /is/ for the cash it brings, but there's definitely a pinch of ego thrown in for good measure. By all accounts, the painting on the wall might be worth a few hundred dollars. Priceless, it sure is not. Her expression turns even more stoic when Joker just as effortlessly shatters the vase due to his clumsiness, or an act thereof. "Catwoman is fine, and you're not the first one to come asking for that. I'm not very big on partnerships." At least he didn't go for 'Kitty McKittyface.' Fortunately that naming fad was short-lived, or was it? And, she's playing hard to get, if it's playing at all. The expression and body language continue to suggest wary caution mixed with an outward show of self-confidence.

Joker has posed:
"Woah now. I'm a professional!" Joker says, straighteninghis suit jacket. "Point is I could get in here and, after we've gon our seperate ways, some bums'll have swapped the lock, vase for a forgery that cost more than the original, whole kit and kaboodle!" He points at the broken vase, still inside its case, "I was making a point. You, me, any kinda riff-raff could get in here and maybe out with something. Top security... I could nab what I need... but not without the whole song and dance routine. Sometimes even I have to be serious..." He sighs, "It's true! You know my dirty little secret! An exploding Ice Cream van with second setting cement launcher, ice creams that have laughing compunds that'll wear off and don't spoil the vanilla goodness, knowing the where and when for the how... it all takes planning. Know how. Discipline. If the Bat, cops or other assorted costumed freaks know where I've been and what's missing... they'll know WHY!"

He coughs and goes from growl and grimace to smile and singsong. "I need you. You can do oh so much more that I can't, I know you've got the measure of any of those dead-heads and that it'll be done right. Quiet. No one'll even know I called you in for a consult." That strained perma-smile grows brighter. He speaks soft and silken, not so much that one would strain to hear, but enough that he's barely disturbed the air with the words. "One thing I can do... that I've always been able to do... is know what makes people tick. "So, yeah, money's a plenty and not a problem, but there's a few kitty, catty, feline thingybobbers, whatchamacallits and things I have squirreled away and a few more I know where they are that I bet you don't besides as a sweetner. Whther you take up the gig or not. Just a look at the list." He grips one part of his jacket and gives a small nod. Asking permission. Confirmation. Should he reach inside?

Catwoman has posed:
Catwoman gestures around her at the variety of other things in the art gallery. "You can clean this place out for all I care. None of it matters to me," she remarks, just to make that point clear before she listens to more of his spiel, that expression of hers remaining about as taut as the catsuit makes the rest of her look.

"You know, there's a little difference between the two of us. Sure, you may plan some things out, but you're all about chaos. I prefer more order to things. The best night to me is the one where nobody knows where I've been because nobody's seen me. That makes tonight, for me, a failure already," she explains, avoiding touching on the matter of exploding this, cement that, probably leading to death and dismemberment. There's only so far she's willing to push a killer clown.

She paces back a few steps, as if she's going to finish the job of removing that painting from the wall and make her exit, only to eye Joker with more of that caution. "Since when did you care about others being aware of what you're up to, anyway? I'd think you'd revel in knowing Batman knew what you were up to, scrambling to figure out when, where, and how you were going to act. And, don't you have Harley to do some of that work for you?"

But, it's the talk of what makes her and others out there tick, the mention of some cat-related items that leads to her having trouble hiding the curious turn to the way she eyeballs him. It's true that her primary focus has followed a specific theme. "What list?" she questions, subtly slipping into more of a defensive stance when the hand goes for the interior of the jacket.

Joker has posed:
Joker smiles, "Chaos? I've a bad rep. I need a new PR guy... or one to begin with..." he then says, "The list? What list? Oh! That list." His smile graduates to a fully fledged grin... "Why don't you turn the painting over? It looks like some clown's played a trick and stuck something on the back..." Like the list. Like him. Like... wait a minute! Not giving away gold like that! Work it out for yourself!

"People don't get the joke sometimes, it's true, but just because I fell off the line betwixt genius and madness what feels like many lifetimes ago... never means there isn't method to my brand of madness." He stops and thinks. That constand overexaggerated animation gone from his face and mannerisms. Then, still cold and, for the want of a better word more... normally he explains... "Ever wonder? Bats? Why I just didn't blow him, Gotham, the whole world to kingdome come? I could have killed him many times over and vice versa... if it weren't his style... there's a reason for that, Catwoman. It isn't enough for me to kill him. I have to beat him."

Some animation and the less sane, more familiar, service resumes, "At his own game. He calls upon his friends to get those toys... those magnificent toys... I have to outdo that with something I made myself. I need to beat his martial arts with parlour trick and table magician's tricks? Fine. I have to disarm him fencing foil to rubber chick in the final act?! I... will."

"Don't need to kill him to do that. Don't need to kill to do a lot of things... and... when it comes to him... always him... to beat him? I need him alive to do what I need to do. Don't believe anything you hear second hand. People lie and have more faces than Harvey. The lies get bigger and better the more people they pass through. You ever want to know about me... ask." Bitterness tinges the last word. Some things just never will be funny.

He looks at the gloved hand holding his jacket, and adds, "Inside, key to a cargo container, down at the docks, under a UV light theres a big picture of a grinning cheshire cat on the front door." He reaches in, quicker than a whip, and puts the keys on the case. "Take it or don't. You do. You want the gig... you'll know how to get in touch." He isn't laughing. He isn't smiling. He is. Slowly. Oh so slowly. Walking away...

Catwoman has posed:
Catwoman lets the man who favors the purple and green talk while she keeps one watchful eye on him, one on the painting as she finally removes it from the wall. No alarms, silent or audible. On the back, the list in question. A quick skimming of it even reveals the very place they're in, and he might catch her brows slowly lifting. "This is on it, too," she reveals, studying him with as much suspicion as ever over the course of this encounter. "You were already here, and you /knew/ I'd probably be here." She could ask how he knew that, knew when to be here, but would it matter now? Rather than doing that, she rests the frame against floor and wall after using a clawtip to slice the list free, tucking it away in the shoulder bag she has with her.

All the talk of killing or not killing Batman, getting toys like he does, making things, all the way down to simply just beating Batman..she takes it all in as impassively as she can, knowing he's giving her a look into what makes /him/ tick. He has to make Batman know he's won, to know he knows. It's understandable. She's played similar games with him in their minimal encounters so far, and she wets her lips quickly with her tongue, the expression still grim.

"I think I know all I need to know about you, Joker," the costumed woman points out, not ready to admit how much, if any of it, may also apply to her. The stakes in the games she plays are much, much lower in comparison to Joker's ultimate goal. She tenses just enough to give it away when the hand comes up with the keys after he's told her of the place at the docks - which, if she goes to, she will absolutely case the hell out of first - and makes no move to stop him as he begins to leave, the keys retrieved along the way. That is, until she says something else.

"I do have one thing to ask. In the end, do you /want/ him dead?"

Joker has posed:
He stops, he turns, and he thinks. "In the end? Once I'd had my fun? Once I'd won?" Joker starts, "Now isn't that a question and a half. Like if we hadn't been made into what we are... would we have still did what we did? Or why did the chicken cross the road?" He tries for a joke. His heart isn't in it though. And it shows. "If, when the sun came up tomorrow and, for the sake of a giggle, I'd beat him by then. With no doubt in my or anyone elses mind that I was the victor... the sun could rise and fall a thousand, million, infinitely more, untill it couldn't do so any more... and I still couldn't tell you. As, between that dawn and this... it still wouldn't matter. Wouldn't need it to get the joke, so to speak." He shrugs and turns, calling as he fades from view... "It isn't the answer you want... but it's all I got!"

Catwoman has posed:
"Hmm." Catwoman seems considerably more curious about /this/ revelation than anything else so far, as tense as she's been during the unexpected meeting. Giving Joker a chance to field the question of letting Batman live or die and being unable to get a clear answer? She reads sincerity from him on the lack of certainty, more authentic than if he was just pulling the tail she doesn't have.

In the end, she has no more to add to it, not even an 'until next time' for him, the catburglar content to have him gone while she goes about removing the canvas from the frame, rolling it up, and making off with it. A score is a score, but this one proved to be more complicated than she could have imagined in spite of its simplicity.