2695/No One Will Ever Know...

No One Will Ever Know...
Date of Scene:	04 October 2017
Location:	Unknown
Synopsis:	Summary needed
Cast of Characters:	Joker, Green Goblin

---

Joker has posed:
He's the Joker, THE Clown Prince Of Crime! and he's stitting by the phone like a stood up date. A different phone in a different place rings... and the pre-recorded message speaks. "Norm! How's it going! I'm out on the town, not in at the moment... but, order some takeout for collection! Like some za... of a certain brand name that I can't mention for legal reasons..."

While the message is played, exposition given on the where and when and who and how and not the what and why... Joker stares at the phone, beaming happily. It doesn't stare back. He's wearing the company uniform, waiting eagerly... staring at the phone... nothing ringing... smile fading... grimace starting...

He whips off the apron, hat and all, and smashes the phone in the process. "Typical. One time someone's there to answer and no one wants a pizza! No wonder I cook at home..."

No one's going to point out the phone lines are cut and the place has been cleared out before his arrival. Closed sign on the front door flipped, he waits in the back for something to happen. Why was he here again? Oh... something'll come up! After all. Comedy. It's all improv.

Green Goblin has posed:
More... games...

Putting the finishing touches on his grand scheme these past few days, Norman Osborn clearly looks like a man at the end of his rope as he slams the phone into the thick oak desk back at his penthouse office suite. His eyes, bagged with lack of sleep. His face, lined by stress marks - the cumulative effect of not only a hundred seperate threads trying to be woven together into one coherent web for his enemies, but also the introduction of an entire NEW element... an utter unknown. Even Cobblepot didn't seem to be able to offer him anything other than a vague, dramatic morality tale when pressed for information - the man who knows EVERYTHING that happens in Gotham's underworld, seemingly of no help in this regard. Nevermind... the Penguin has his other uses, after all... and he expected, from the start, he would have to go into this with less information than usual.

Stepping out of his chair back at the office, Norman put on an olive-green suit jacket to match his pants, the inside layer lined with perhaps more vials of toxins/flammable materials and throwing knives than usual. And naturally, he keeps his pistol on his belt. While he has to leave such things in the office when he travels to places like Bludhaven, much of the NYC elite are in his pocket, so he is one of the few allowed to legally carry a firearm on the streets of Manhattan. A fringe benefit of money and power.

A short time later, a non-descript black sedan pulls up to a bizarre, boarded-up pizza place. The engine stays on for what seems like minutes as, inside, Norman is fiddling with a bottle of pills that he hastily tosses back. The Clown... brings something out of the man. Something he's fought long and hard to keep at bay. He's dangerous, for that reason alone.

Finally, the engine cuts out and the door opens, Norman stepping out and taking in the site of the pizza place. "What is with these Gothamites and their love for the sewers of the world..." he mutters disdainfully for himself, used to dealing with a far better class of NYC criminal. Call Fisk a fat bastard, the guy still has more style than these freaks. He non-chalantly goes to try the front door - if Joker expects to take him out with a tripwire of some kind, he'll find himself disappointed... and anyway, Norm gets the feeling THIS character has more... intricate plans.

Joker has posed:
The door opens and a cry of "CAN'T YA READ?! WE'RE CLOSED!!" follows. Besides the beep-boop of the door to announce another happy customer... no traps or tricks. At least there... at any rate. A more sweet and serene call comes from the back after a moments pause, complete with a curious peek from the Joker, "Unless... is it? It is!" He makes a few flips and flops out of the back room, over the counter, and towards the other man, arms open. Half playing the fool, half pretending the guy he's barely met is a long time friend and colleague, bring it in for a hug. Half going, look! No jacket on, just the shirt, sleeves rolled up, pants and braces, no immediate bulges, weapons or gimicked gizmos to pull with his ungloved hands.

Glad ya came! You're looking great! Lost weight since I seen you last! Got a tan? Been working out? Whatever it is... you're looking like a well adjusted, healthy, happy human being." The smile shifts down a gear and a little ratchetting creeps in his voice, when he adds, "Easier for some than others... which is the point. Don't get me wrong, Norm, I'm not clown shaming, not ashamed on who I am... or anything I've done..." He slowly turns on the spot. Half emphasising the point, half showing there's nothing behind him, half showing he can show his back to him.

Building some trust. Pay attention kids! This is how it's done! This is how the grown ups talk! He flicks a lit cigarette from between his fingers and cuts the act in his voice, "But... lets face it..." He takes a draw, "I'm a little lot distinctive. Smoke plumes skyward and he flicks a second into the same hand, drawing from the twinned cigs for what feels like the first time.

Yeah. It's a conversation, yeah, he's wanting to be buddy-buddy, let's not forget who or what he is though. He wanted to make the other kinda motions... he wouldn't need to have all that other stuff... and no one'd see it coming... "Hence the secrecy. Hardly like we could have overpriced drinks at the Highlife bar without people seeing me. Most of the time... it doesn't matter, don't get me wrong, I love center stage, but, like this, some things I need to work around so I don't rub off on others. Never been a problem, me being maybe but, someday, sometime... it might be. Which, Normie, is why you are here." He looks away from up to Norm after he speaks. Between draws and silence he looks at nothing but the man in front of him. Reading, looking for the hook, waiting which way the mop'll flop. Wich way the gag's gonna go down...

Green Goblin has posed:
And there it is. The reason for the double-dose of medication he just dry-swallowed outside the pizza parlour. A face that reflects a certain something back at the man himself. Something he is, most assuredly, unnerved by. A familiar look in the eyes. That look of madness given free rein, of morals and rules tossed aside to serve the whims of an unhinged lunatic. At one time, it would have been like looking in the mirror.

But right now, at this point in time? Norman Osborn is doing his very BEST to stay level-headed.

<That's right, Norm...> comes the low whisper in his ear, accompanied with a dull thud behind his eyeballs, the voice quieted by the medication floating around his brain but still there... always there... <Try to hold onto that sanity... See what good it does you in the end...>

Shaking his head to clear out the voices and bring him back to the present moment, it may have been obvious that Norman was... somewhere else, if only for a fraction of a second. Once returned to reality, once again faced with the Clown Prince's twisted visage, Norman looks the Joker up and down for any hint of a concealed weapon. Nothing obvious. Even still, despite Joker's slow turn to emphasis that his apparent lack of weapons, Norman steps back and opens the front of his suit jacket, attempting to make sure the Joker recognizes the holstered pistol on his belt. No verbal threats follow it, simply seeking an... understanding of the present situation, and Norm's current outlook towards it. He certainly wouldn't draw it unless he planned to use it. And the Clown... interests him. Almost in a kindred spirit way - at least for 50-percent of his brain, bahaha.

"I must say," he says, attempting to come off as casual as possible in the presence of such a chaotic, unpredictable force, "I was wondering whether I should even call you." He stops, and chuckles, maybe the Joker will appreciate THIS, "I even went and saw a mutual acquintance of ours. That squat little bird-man in his palace of Ice and excess," he says - vaguely referring to a certain Gotham City underworld figure he recently visited, "looking for information, of course. Some place I could find you. Some place I could catch you at. Some place I could KILL you, for SETTING FOOT... in my niece's home..."

His voice has momentarily twisted into a mask of blind rage, remembering the sheer disrespect of attacking him in the home of a family member. There are few things outside money and power that Norman values - family... is OCCASIONALLY one of them.

"So tell me, CLOWN. Why am I here? Convince me you're not more trouble than you're worth. Cobblepot gave me nothing but the usual Gotham THEATRICS. I expect something more from YOU..."

He lets his words hang, narrowing his eyes on the Joker and absent-mindedly doing his suit up - emphasizing the point that he doesn't intend to use his firearm or any other weapons, simply that it was, and is, an option.

Joker has posed:
Joker's face creases in thought. Then brightens! "How is Pingu? Great guy... if not a bit fishy... never mind the smell..." He takes another draw from his twinned cigs and exhales slowly, hiding the sigh. "Hard to believe... isn't it..." Someone starts but the voice, face, gait and man lacking the animation it usually sports, the Joker's still stood there, but it's not his usual routine, or act. In fact, there's none.

"We didn't choose this Norman. I came to see you that day as I caught that look in your eyes. Something happened once and it all changed. Applies to me. I'm betting a lot same applies to you too. You can't go back and, like me, you don't know how to buckle. You doubled down, didn't you? Made it work for you. Turned it round. Made it not matter as, now, you were at even greater advantage before."

He draws again, no tricks, smoke curling shapelessly as he exhales, "That... could have been me talking about you. You talking about me. Swap the posessives about and it's the same thing. Just like it's the same saying you came out of it looking like you did. I came of it looking like I do. So. No jokes, duplicity or other deception. I think you might be the only guy with the science and the sentiment to understand my situation. I need to look, pass and be more of a regular Joe Kerr than the Joker."

"This time, this thing, I can't put on some slap and call it quits when is wears off. It has be down to the bone. Backstory, paperwork, people who swear they know me, I can do that. But If I can't put a body to the backstory... the gig's off. I embraced this visage that made me a joke, Norman, accepted, for now and ever, it's who I'll ever be. But, just one time, for one thing, I need to be more than that."

Cigarettes spent, he discards them, no flair or flourish, and continues "You're the only one who's qualified to do the practical and would understand... whatever changes on the surface doesn't really change what's deep down in that strange thing that makes you... you. Me... me. Doesn;t change who we are. Just how we appearto others." He doesn't do theatrics. He doesn't lie. He doesn't make a joke. He does the only thing to the only one who can do what's needed. Put his cards, as they are, on the table. Okay. One joke! That was in the introspective though!

Green Goblin has posed:
<I don't know about you...> comes the giggling, mocking voice that only Norm seems to hear, <But I LIKE this guy, hahaha!>

His eyes visibly twitching, Norman raises one hand without thinking, as if to swat away the encroaching whispers of the Goblin inside his mind. It must present an odd front, as he begins to visibly sweat even through the medication, veins in his neck becoming more prominent, his skin more flushed and creased - as though waging some kind of struggle within himself.

All told, though, in the face of Madness given human force, he seems to be holding himself together as well as can be expected. "The SMELL doesn't come from the Iceberg, or even it's... proprieter..." whispers Norman, almost to himself, before waving the Clown's smoke away from his face as he continues, "..the problem is the city itself. It REEKS of blood and VOMIT, Clown. It makes me SICK, and it's where people like Penguin, the Bat, and YOURSELF belong". His voice rises to a pitch as he rants, ending by stabbing his index finger in the air towards the bizarre Clown Prince who... suddenly seems to drop the routine, to Norman's visible surprise, an uncertain glare taking over his deep green eyes as this show of relative sanity and rationality seems... well... not at all what he expected when he walked in here, certainly?

He waits for the man to finish speaking, a moment of silence passing as he considers the information in his head - no doubt arguing back and forth with the Goblin as he produces a folded green handkerchief from his suit pocket and wipes a bit of sweat off his brow. Clearing his throat, he takes a step towards Joe.

"I must admit some respect for your... act, if that's what it is, Joker," he says, as if it were no concern of his - he is, after all, not one to judge those who may have more than one persona dancing around their fractured psyche, "And though I may not be able to... sympathize..." he whispers that last word, eyes narrowing - trying desperately to distance himself from any rumours of the Goblin. But he wouldn't put it past a mind as demented as the Joker to truly be able to look into Norman's eyes and see the Goblin inside.

"Muscle relaxers..." he says, almost without thinking, his eyes getting a faraway look, "For the face. That's the first thing, Joker. People KNOW that smile. This presents... more difficulties." He shakes his head for a moment, as if he's said too much, "I understand the hows, and I might even be willing to HELP someone of your... disposition. But you're leaving out the whys, Joker. As far as I can tell from my research, you seem to enjoy what you ARE."

"I have plans in this city. Great things. I wonder, what end YOU have in mind? You ask me to help you, you say we understand each other. You'll forgive me, for being a tad... hesitant."

Crossing his arms over his chest, Norm ends with a few simple words, "Tell me WHY I should help you."

Joker has posed:
Freed from what once was, more normal service resumes, and the Joker speaks once more. He points at Norm an says, "Why? Good question. The gig I'm talking about? What I want to do... You know. As you've had the same idea as me. You've been setting yourself on a war footing. Squeaky clean, Bigging up the family man aspect, why'd you think I made all think the random looney Joker came to attack you, just 'cause. Don't want you to lose those precious points at the polls... turns out great minds..." The pointing finger turns to thumbing at myself "...even think like mine."

He grins, giggles then laughs, "You're a businessman, you know calculated risk, what's the best way to win in a two horse race? Be the one who owns both. I have some policies that, I think we'll agree on, under the issues debated and noticed, and, frankly, I don't need to win. I just need to be there. He'll work it out. Or at least suspect it. It'll drive him nuts! But... to pull off the gag... I need enough to make it that if they wand blood and bile, sample whatever they want if he pushes that hard, they'll just get some guy. Doesn't need to be round the clock, maybe only enough for a one time gig, but it'll mean he'll be discredited. A laughing stock!"

He doesn't laugh. Let it sink in, "So, I table a motion for a merger. Get me in the race. Give me a face and body to do it. We beat down the competiton behind the scenes and fight like bitter enemies on stage, either way, when it comes to the finish, Whoever wins, it'll be whatever you say that happens. Worst that happens, you win and have to be in the office for appearances. Best case... I'll be in the public eye, doing what you tell me to and be rubbing it in his face. every second of every minute of every hour of every day..."

Green Goblin has posed:
<He KNOWS you Noooormieeee,> hisses the Goblin's voice, bouncing around the man's synapses and making the man more visibly un-nerved, <Does he knows about USSSSSS?>

Once again attempting to swat away the voice with a quicker-than-usual wave of his hand, Norman does his best to focus solely on the... remarkably ration-sounding clown in front of him. Was it really all an act? All the madness? All the lunacy? All the rumours about kingpins and demons and chaos given form? He'd always figured it was just Gotham city theatrics, but he'd never assumed he'd be having a sensible business discussion with a man who regularly poisons ice cream supplies just for the laughs.

"Well, Joe... may I call you Joe? I suggest you find something... less obvious," he says with a small chuckle, his mood seemingly lightening after listening to the Clown's spiel, "but anyway - I must admit I'm impressed at your... information. Though if I were you, I'd be careful who I spoke to about these things," he says, the menace in his voice surely going noticed as he takes another step towards the Joker, "There are all kinds of unfortunate accidents that happen in this city. Perhaps more than previously..."

He chuckles again. Deep. Dark. Full of malice. Some sly reference to a return of the Goblin? Who knows.

"You're smarter than they give you credit for... but still, you'll need to put in a lot of work... voice coaches, PSYCHOLOGISTS... medications. You can leave the background to my people, I have MANY friends in high places," he gloats, and it's true - he wouldn't be walking around a free man after all his criminal acts unless he had elite connections able to disappear or fabricate information to suit his whims, "But YOU'LL need to put in your share."

He pauses, then smiles - that fake politician smile he's been practicing in the mirror so recently, "So... you want to do this. Part of me thinks it's a trick, but I'm willing... to see how things work out."

He pauses again, to rub his chin, "Surely you've heard of the word Bourder. Obsolete, to be sure, but do you know what it once meant? A man, who jests, or jokes. If you want to rub this in the Bat's face, I suggest you offer a little gift for the world's greatest detective..." He does know a thing or two, after all, about subtly prodding a hated rival, but he simply shrugs the idea off, "Bourder, Border, I'm not the comedian, Joker. I leave that in YOUR capable hands. I do feel, however, we may have... if not an agreement, a tentative... UNDERSTANDING..."

"How do I reach you to set up the necessary... proceedures, if my people approve of this idea? I won't be caught in this godforsaken hole of a pizza parlor every time we need to talk."

Joker has posed:
Looking around and nodding his head the Joker says, "Yeah. It's a dump. Also one that even you couldn't prove you were at if you tried. Some fool ordered maintainance of the cameras that would've been unavoidable on any of your routes here. Though... let's face it... you took the direct route. You're not afraid of anything in front of you. Most people miss it Norm. I see you... coo-ee" His fingers wave at him. Maybe just back to silly and ridiculous. Maybe he's showing some of the shattered genius...

"You're not the kind to stand ready and advance, even on me, unless you got the special something to back it up." He explains with that strange seriousness, "Your body barely restrains it, your tone changes hearld it loud and clear, and, yes, that's your business. But, since I know me, and you know you, and a lot of that's... reflected... in each other, well." Maybe he's trying to get a read, maybe he's just joking around. He stops waving.

If he knows anything he's not saying at any rate. "Most people forget the past, Norm. Where people and places came from. Like this dump! Used to be a bank. Vultured and sold off as seperate units leaving this mess. They didn't take out the full exchange cabling though. So there's a packet I play with, untracable, call this number and, wherever I am, you'll get through to me." With the third slight of the day he offers the card with the number on it. "You call and I'll come quietly. Bet Bats wishes I could say the same!" He then sniffs the air, "Oh! No... I think my salami sausage is burning. Oh pooh. We done clowning around for now? I gotta see if I order takeout for my burned sit in."

Green Goblin has posed:
<Well, if YOU'RE not gonna tell him, Norm - I WILL.>

"Quiet..." a hissed whisper in return from Norman - maybe Joker hears it, maybe he doesn't. Regardless, he seems to know a lot more about the Osborn patriarch than most people - surely nothing that could be proven in a court, anyway... after all, others, actual heroes, have tried. "And I see you, my new 'friend'. I see your cunning. Your instinct. Past all the lunacy and your city's damned flair for melodrama. After all, one plays on the stage they're given."

He moves forward and grabs the business card held out to him, the second time in a week that Joker has handed or otherwise slipped something to him. Though he was aware of the Clown Prince, as are any who watch the news even infrequently, he certainly never expected to find someone... relatable; at least from Norman Osborn's perspective. The Green Goblin? Well, he's LONG been a fan of Joker's work, though he'd hardly come out and say it just like THAT. "So, we'll give this a chance. Only because I believe you're the right sort of... actor, to pull off such a thing. In your time in Gotham you've brought great men to their knees in terror..."

He slips the business card into his suit pocket, then extends a clammy, still-sweating right hand to the Clown Prince - seemingly on the path of reform, if only to annoy a certain Gotham vigilante. Regardless of Joker's motives, Norman is nothing if not a natural eye for talent. He's made billions on the work of others, the backs of better minds than his own, men he used for his own purposes then discarded. This character may simply prove... more difficult, to dispose of in the end.

"I believe we have an understanding. Work on a name, Joker, I am a professional and I expect the same from those I work.... with," he says, carefully selecting that last word, "I will be in touch, personally, with an address within 24 hours. If you're SERIOUS, you're report there for the first round of treatments. Mental AND physical."

"Oh, and..." he pauses, a certain tension filling the air between them as he jabs his finger as the Clown again, "NO. FUNNY. BUSINESS."