437/Commissioner Joker's Number One Supporter

Commissioner Joker's Number One Supporter
Date of Scene:	16 May 2017
Location:	Gotham City
Synopsis:	Summary needed
Cast of Characters:	Joker, Ra's al-Ghul

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Joker has posed:
     The Narrows, once upon a time this was a nice place. There were theaters on each avenue lovingly crafted homes, and little parks to keep the world bright and cheery. It wasn't uncommon for the well to do to spend their entire days in this part of town, spending every dime for a wonderful time. It was peaceful. It was a Happier time. It was... BORING

     Why anyone would want to go back to that time is a complete mystery. Now there's not a single children who doesn't have a nice safe used hypodermic or broken crackpipe to call their own. Prostitutes wander the streets day and night peddling their diseases and drug dealers their addictions. Between the muggings, murders, arson and jaywalking a day doesn't go by that there isn't some delicious bit of misery to kick back and enjoy. There are always so many happy faces!

     Sure most the brownstones are slums, the fine dinnings been replaced with brothels, and the murder rate one of the highest on earth but it's SO MUCH FUN HERE! I mean every home even has its own personal mural painted in bold colors belonging to all manner of gangs and crews.

     All except one: The Chuckle Bunker. No bars on the windows, not a spot of graffiti, and even the neon sign hasn't burned out yet! Why it's a veritable oasis for the members that stand inside!

     On either side of the door stand two men dressed in pitch black suits ripped right from the 1920's with wide brimmed fedoras that hide their faces in shade turning away those who don't belong.

Ra's al-Ghul has posed:
    Gotham City had grown considerably dangerous over the course of its founding, centuries before. The quaint little urban mire had always been a source of amusement to Ra's al-Ghul, but within the past decades, his curiousity had grown at those fighting to save it. There was something here, some force, that pushed back against the hateful vice that enveloped it. Ra's al-Ghul knew the true reason for Gotham City's decline, it was simply a matter of geography. Gotham was in a poor wedge in terms of highways and other cities, and it was an essential port down the Atlantic. The wealthier shipping magnates preferred other areas, so Gotham City got the more unusual contracts, immigrants, and laborers. The Mafia followed, and eventually, the city was sodden in corruption that the state and government couldn't clear. But it survived, simply because of what made New Jersey, New Jersey.

    The people.

    A black limosuine cruises through the night, with a powerful engine and bullet proof glass, lined in black armored paneling with second chance puncture resistant tires. The state of emergency from inadequate funds, complicated by the police strike, guaranteed a downward spiral of chaos. But Ra's al-Ghul was inspired by the Gothamites and their attempts to stop this affliction. Even Gothamites like the Joker. The city considerably more dangerous, Ra's al-Ghul had no fear here. He had a small flotilla of combat helicopters with dozens of Assassins available at the push of an emergency frequency band's flip switch, waiting just offshore on a modified oil tanker.

    The limosuine pulls up to the Chuckle Bunker, and Ra's al-Ghul slowly climbs out, followed by a pair of Persians in business suits. He pulls his cloak once, to straighten it with a flick of reflexive action down the cape, peering up at the sign. He slowly walks towards the entrance, six foot five of tall Chinese-Mongol Bedouin, his Persian bodyguards following on either side, just three steps behind.

Joker has posed:
     The man on the left of the buildings front door speaks down into his lapel for a moment. His face is almost completely enshrouded in a pitch black almost unnatural darkness. The only thing that's visible of the face belong to the man on the other side of him his pearly white smile shining out into the darkness.

     Inside the building the beats thump. There's a strangeness to them that almost makes the head spin, the pitch has been twisted the tempo speeds up and slows down ever so slightly, and the vocals have just enough reverb to sound wrong. The experience for most is akin to being drugged, without of course the need for usual intoxication or injection. Through the windows one can see men dressed to the nines as if they'd walked out of an old mobster film. Mixed in with them are people in police uniforms, or even people wearing almost nothing at all the entire interior of the structure a clash of seemingly every style designed from the pits of madness.

     Yet at the center of the room is a simple brick stage that looks to have been moved over from a much older building. The backing of the stage holds a simple sign that declares it the Chuckle Bunker. The actual stage itself is covered in a thin layer of dust and ropes prevent anyone from even stepping up onto the stage itself as it seems no one has gone near it in years.

Ra's al-Ghul has posed:
    "The name is Ra's al-Ghul," comes the Demon's soft, but cutting voice, using due deferential authority towards the minion of another mastermind. "I would like to contribute to the Commissioner's campaign for Mayor." He looks raises a hand behind him, his two bodyguards, moving to guard the car. "Please inform him that, much like him, I am an acquaintance of Batman. One he has perhaps not met before."

    Ra's al-Ghul has studied Joker's file, from his contact at Arkham Asylum's quiet copy of the file in the clinician's medical database. In modern parlance, criminal insanity, parsed through by a number of theories and variable factors existant in modern psychology and criminology. In Ra's al-Ghul's judgement, however, something far simpler. A strong desire for stylistic clashes, beyond the normal necessity a man who considers himself great needs. No, this man was once not great, and has a deepseated need to make himself this way. The Joker is an actor that was never found, or perhaps never picked up the craft in the first place.

Joker has posed:
     "I don't see your name on the list bu-" The massive 10 foot tall brute pauses mid sentence. His words were slow and collected enough anyway that it wasn't like he was going to be finishing the sentence soon. His expression is still hidden beneath the hat as he just speaks in that dimwitted Italian accented voice of his.

     Reaching over he pulls open the door for Ra's the sounds of the club die out the moment the door opens revealing inside... an empty room. It's just an empty club there's not even a single person here. "Boss wants to meet you personally." Of course on the outside of the building and even the windows it still LOOKS like there's the party of a lifetime going on, yet inside there's just an empty version of that same room.

Ra's al-Ghul has posed:
    Ra's al-Ghul waits patiently, his posture high and perhaps arrogant, although the pride he has cannot be carried by a mortal man without appearing unfounded. "Very well."

    Ra's al-Ghul walks into the empty room behind the door, nonplussed at the Joker's sense of humor. He has not changed his original opinion, as he moves amidst the club, coming alone. He has already prepared a basic counteragent to Joker's particular brand of neurotoxin, having had the League prepare it in a laboratory from a sample taken by Gotham Police years ago. That should suffice for an escape should the Commissioner turn on him, having stored the substance in an injector inside his left sleeve, secured in a wristbrand worn about his forearm. The sample, however, was an old one.

    "Mister Joker," Ra's al-Ghul says gently, moving his arms behind him beneath his green cloak, clasping them there. It is a show of respect, leaving himself open, but it is also a show of challenge. "I am pleased to see your new responsibility has not dulled your sense of humor."

Joker has posed:
     The door is slowly closed behind him. The lights themselves are low and this place looks as if there hasn't been anyone here in some time. However, as Ra's comes to a stop there's a low PFFFFFFFFFFFLLLBBBTTTT as the entire floor sinks just a slight bit under his weight as he comes to a stop. It's the telltale sound of a whoopie cushion right underneath the floor itself only activating once he's stopped his graceful arrival.

     The lights all go pitch black for a moment, before a pair of spotlights shine down onto the spot where Ra's is stood. Cheesy 70's contest music begins to blare out from old speakers, a discount Price is Right. "Coming to us from the far off land of the Orient weighing in at over 2 ounces it's our next lucky contestant...." there's a pause for a moment. "Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrra's al-Ghul!" There's a thunderous applause of an audience that's currently unscene as a pathway down to a stage lights up at the bottom there's Joker in a neon purple suit with a lone green handkerchief and matching tie. His pine green hair has been slicked over to one side and other then the inhumanly pale face, blood red eyes, crimson lips, and smile that should be ripping his face in two he's the spitting image of Bob Barker.

     "You're out next lucky contestant on: The PRICE IS LIFE!" He throws his arms out to either side smiling broad as ever while walking to the edge of the stage. He seems to be having a rather good time of things as the audience gives another roar of thunderous applause. A light giggle escapes his lips culminating in a "Hooo boy did you walk into the wrong part of town."

Ra's al-Ghul has posed:
    Ra's al-Ghul purses his lips together at the sound of the whoopie cushion, not the least bit amused. Ra's al-Ghul, like a turtle that's been disturbed, cranes his head about looking for the direction of the music, eyes narrowing, before he hears what he assumes to be fake applause and the Joker steps into view. A faint, chagrined smile is begrudged the Joker, at the reference to the most enduring talkshow host that Ra's al-Ghul could never quite kill, despite multiple attempts to destroy the man's offensive legacy on his decades on television. Ra's al-Ghul watches American television, from time to time, and Bob Barker disturbed the Demon in a way that he couldn't quite place. Honesty combined with encouragement, for a fistful of dollars from desperate American working poor that had no idea they were being mocked by the very same class as them.

    Perhaps, Mr. Joker, you are not an actor, you are a director, Ra's ponders.

    "If I did walk into the wrong part of town, Joker, then I've met the right man to correct my error," a soft, almost sighing refrain comes in reply, as Ra's unfolds his arms from behind him and slowly strides towards the stage. "I had wished to meet you for myself, since you are the Commissioner of this fair city. I will play to my disadvantage, of course." He grins, showing his teeth, but it is an oddly savage look, and not in a way of madness, but pure sane animalism. "I have always been curious to know why Batman has so little pleasure in his line of work. Thank you for the solution to this query."

Joker has posed:
     Joker seems pleased with himself at least even as he speaks in that cheesy Barker impression. He's following all the old steps the actual stage itself a near perfect recreation of the show that must have taken hundreds of thousands of dollars and hundreds of hours of work to put together for a single gag.

     Even the sign has been put to be an almost exact match to the show proper with the only change being the switching of the word right to life. "Well Al thanks for those kind words of encouragement" That saccharine not for one moment leaving his face as he just keeps pushing that little button. "We here at the Price is Life really like to keep the people of Gotham on their toes, and add that little spice life is missing."

Ra's al-Ghul has posed:
    "I understand your fascination with Gotham City, Joker," Ra's al-Ghul responds curtly, coming to a halt within the proper range of the stage to speak comfortably, but not getting close enough to offend Joker with that cutlass the Demon has at his hip. "I have watched this quaint little waterfront grow from an acorn, up into what it is today. There is something about the people of Gotham that defy every stone and sling that is flung against it. It is almost as if the man they call Shaitan has taken a direct interest in this little plot of land, challenging those here...And the people, they still flock to this shantytown grown into a spire of commercial wealth, for the simple purpose of challenging the Traitor." Ra's al-Ghul waves a hand. "The truth is that Gotham City is born into madness from its coincidences, and people come here because the strong always seek to challenge decay."

    He tilts his head, regarding Joker carefully. "You would seem to represent this force of madness that troubles Gotham City, Joker, that people come here to challenge, but you continue to survive, despite the City's best attempts to kill you. That is how you, Joker, are just like those people that survive your trials and crucibles." He says this, deadly serious: "Gotham City is where the agents of Fate are being selected, Joker. You are one, and your fellow madmen of Gotham are them, and those that oppose you are them. I am one as well. This is how I know."

Joker has posed:
     Joker kicks back on the small desk where the contestants would set if this were an actual show, and not just something the madman had built in passing interest. He doesn't interrupt Ra's, even as the music finishes off. The lights fade back to normal and joker finds himself a chair to set in behind the stage.

     "Well I would have accepted 'what is philosophy' for five hundred personally." The man mixing show references as he takes a nice healthy bite of a purple apple. What looks like makeup, and lipstick on his face not even remotely affected by the process of eating. "Is it so much just to want a smile here and there?" He asks looking towards Ra's. "Honestly I think if your face cracked a proper smile half the eastern seaboard would fall into the ocean." A bit bored sounding as he leans on his own hand looking Ra's up and down. "So, you just come here to wax philosophy?"

Ra's al-Ghul has posed:
    Ra's al-Ghul furrows his eyebrows together, although it is not in confusion. "Quite." He had hoped that alone would explain his presence to the Joker, but that apparently was not sufficient. Ra's turns aside, looking into the darkness of the club that is not illuminated by the stage. "That was merely a formality, Mr. Joker. Please do not regard it as a trivialty, although if you must, I'm certain you will. You are much like Batman, although your headstrong nature is more practical." He strokes his beard, quietly, as he thinks, the Demon clearly made uncomfortable by being so easily dismissed.

    "I have a proposition for you, Joker. You and your fellow Arkham inmates are quite a diverse group of talents, none of them truly mentally ill, criminally insane, or mentally damaged. These things do not exist, they are merely labels applied to those who refuse to be placed into social normative boxes, then placed in quarantines by doctors after the brutes surrounding us mistreat them. Something about Batman drives you all particularly skillful in fighting order, does it not?" He looks to Joker again, with an inquisitive eye. "A normal individual that's fought their socially enforced view does not steal two dollar bills, or design potent pharmacological torture agents."

Joker has posed:
     "Admit it, that heist was pure gold and you know it van Gogh" He pauses for a moment before fanning his face with first print 2 dollar bills that he's glued his own face to, in essence completely ruining the value of. "I would have gotten away with it as well if it hadn't have been for his little boy wonder... though in the end I'd say the crowbar got the last laugh."

     He sighs with a lighter grin, before taking another bite from the apple. His own trip down memory lane sparking such fond feelings in the pit of his stomach. Those moments spent beating a child right to the brink of death, before letting the bombs do the rest were like gold dust on the wind, there for but one moment but spending a lifetime in his lungs.

     Looking back to Ra's he slamms the apple back down onto the table, springing back up onto the surface. In the process his costume rips off from the tear-away clothing leaving behind his more iconic dress. The man himself is almost inhumanly thin, like a pencil but with massive broad shoulders that make him stand out in that art deco way.

     His mirror finished shoes are sharp enough they could draw blood with even the lightest of touches the point itself catching back the light as joker leans down far to get right back to eye level with Ra's. His smile is a more serious one, something overtly threatening about it as he lets out a short laugh that chills down to the bone. "Now you've got my attention." Spoken in a low voice that's the perfect frequency for resonation. "If that's a good thing is up to you."

Ra's al-Ghul has posed:
    Ra's al-Ghul moves nary an inch as Joker ruminates on his past conquests, and every man has his own form, of course. Joker's would appear to be throwing tomatos at the audience, if that audience was a man dressed in a special forces equivalent combat operations suit, with a few nods towards a garish style to throw his diagnosis to the authorities. And, of course, spread inappropriate phobias to the various opponents Batman may fight. A phobia is to be conquered to defeat an enemy, but what if one is moved in exactly the wrong direction? Chtirophobics are afraid of child bullies, and the Mafiaso of Gotham are such an ilk. That is the hidden power of these madmen of Arkham and elsewhere. And the manner in which Ra's al-Ghul himself first deduced Batman's background in criminology. After that, it was merely the matter of finding a man with appropriate resources and a forcible admiration for police officers. And, of course, from the sorry state his foes were left in, combined with men like the Joker continuing to breath, an abnormal psychological traumatic induction to generate homicidal behavior. The last piece of the puzzle, of course, was the attachment to Selina Kyle, and her known alias as Catwoman. Tragic, the inability to kill, for an otherwise apt pupil. It does come with such annoyances when it comes to the ability to 'commit', in many ways.

    "Batman vexes you, all of you, not because he stops you, but because you are drawn to him. You all view him, and those that associate with him, as the reason you are the way you are. In fact, the reason you are all mad, and in the Penguin's case, vengeful towards any mark of joy, is because you have unlocked a superhuman portion of the human existance. You would all have killed yourself, in one way or another, instead of becoming mad, to survive. And because Batman presses you so terribly, you all press back in such an amazing way. And now, you have this entire city to yourself, to show Batman that you do not need him." Ra's turns to face Joker again. "You will find it depressing, soon."

Joker has posed:
     Joker just laughs and laughs for a long moment, before sliding right back down into a setting position his abnormally long legs sticking far out as he sets indian style. His motions are fluid as a river taking him down with unnatural grace and poise that serves to cause an unsettling divide.

     "Oh how right you are doctor, we're all so drawn to him like flies, and need the guiding light of others to help us see our true selves for what we are." He holds a hand to his chest the other reaching out before him. "If not for Batman we're little more then puddles on the ground!" Spoken as a Shakespearean actor as he throws one hand up to the side of his head faking a feint as he slides down the desk slumping down onto the ground only to pull himself back to a stand with his own hand another fluid almost cartoonish movement.

     His head kicks back for a moment before looking right into Ra's eyes. "Trust me doc, you wouldn't like it in my head, even Xavier doesn't want to go near it, and he'll plunge the depths of anyone's psyche." A light-hearted chuckle, before a sigh. His face falls to a frown as his shoulders slump and his entire body language falls back to a man in the deepest throws of an inescapable depression.

    "Ah but maybe you're right, maybe my entire plan is surface level, just another jab at the man in black." A look right up to the light as he reaches up a hand. "Perhaps he's my one armed man, my raison d'etre" Then he turns back to Ra's. "But we both know there's more to that my friend, what's the point of a punchline you see coming a mile away?"

Ra's al-Ghul has posed:
    "I'd say you understand humor more than a mere wizard of the stage, with all this," Ra's al-Ghul gestures abstractly at the club, turning about. "You know what comedy is, Joker?" He turns about. "It's just mind control. And comedy, is the same thing as tragedy, is the same thing as disgust, is the same thing as shock. You've known it your entire life, haven't you?" Facing Joker again, he smiles, not the smile Joker referenced either. "It's a motion between two sides of the brain, with electric activity in the corpus collusum, discharged into the lower region of the brain. I am a doctor by trade, one raised in an era before the need to prove a theorem in a laboratory and study it. One merely had to make it work and demonstrate it, before an entire secret technique developed."

    "How does one teach an entire planet that authoritarianism is evil, if one cannot make a joke to this extent, Mister Joker?" He raises his eyebrows balefully, tilting his chin upwards with his eyes wide. "Tell me, guess what is going on in my head. What blood drips from my fingertips, amidst the screenwriter's union of the world stage. Ra's al-Ghul is Arabic for 'The Demon's Head'. I am the face of the Devil, and I was once an angel of knowledge, of light."

Joker has posed:
     Joker kicks back against the backdrop of the stage, looking on as he's educated. He's watching the every word of Al-Ghul with baited breath. He even pulls out a small notepad and a pen to start scribbling away notes for later use. It's a wonder if he takes anything seriously, or perhaps that's the point.

     "Hqa? lm akn a'erf." Joker says after a long moment to stroke his chin in silence. The words are spoken in perfect Arabic the kind that would have taken a lifetime to learn and yet he just throws them out to the side as if they were just grabbed from the wind. "Hal istamta'ta bewaqtika" He adds after another moment with a smile. "Down on earth that is, since you're gracing us common folk with such wizened understanding."

Ra's al-Ghul has posed:
    Ra's al-Ghul does not dare insult Joker, by pointing out a personality flaw that the Joker is well aware of, and most likely cannot help. A single early developmental error, and a man is antisocial for the rest of his life. The difference from understanding how a traumatic incident affects another, and how it affects one's self. And most children do not understand another child if the other child is a bully. Treading on landmines.

    "I will interfere no more, Joker. I will enjoy seeing the results of your personal war on theater. Theater, arts, culture, fiction, books...All things that move men to such evil, when they do not understand themselves." He smiles. "The most tragically esteemed book of all was always the Bible, wasn't it?"

    Ra's al-Ghul turns about with a sweep of his cape, playing Joker's game, slowly walking towards the exit.