Conductor of the Crazy Train

February 05, 2015: The Clown Prince of Crime gets his membership card. (Emits by Master Darque)


Amusement Mile.



  • Clowns
  • Suits
  • Sykes

Mood Music:

"Hahahahah!" The laugh is not the Joker, it is someone else. One of the man's many fans a the Joker Gang is quite the number, a bunch of digits kind of number that ranges in to the thousands of troubled whackjobs. Many of them mental patients, junkees, killers, sadists, psychopaths and all number of the fearless enough to put themselves in the rank of the Clown Prince of Crime's number - unfortunately for them many of the Joker's Gang have never even seen the Joker himself, his name is legend though and legends alone bring forward their own followers.
With the snow covered Amusement Mile in it's empty shut down state sound carries. That laughter is picked up and several others join in. Out front of one of the funhouse cul-de-sac entries (in which there are many - Amusement Mile is a MAZE of work, much of it unfinished or condemned) a black limousine has been smashed in to by an ice cream truck and the three men who were inside of it are out on the ground (in the slush, ice and snow), curled in to balls and being kicked, punched, tazed and bludgeoned by various things by a group of clowns.

The clown prince himself is returning 'home'. His safehouse in the Fun House is only one of many but it is the largest and his favorite. The commotion draws his eye. Imitation may be flattery, and he is flattered… ish, but theres something to be said for doing it wrong. Grinning maniacially the Joker produces a switchblade as he stalks toward the group. "No no no… you have to savor the pain. And more importantly, give them time to feel it." The blade flashes, laying one of the clowns cheeks open. "See? If i hit you again now youd hardly notice."

"What the fuck man?" The clown with the sadface paint on reels back holding his cheek. Fingers cupping it.
"Who the fuck is you?" A small woman clown asks, a mallet in her grip. She looks like she is trying to be Harley only more Asian Punk stylized. She even has a tail and her voice is so squeaky it's obnoxious. Almost like Harley too!
"Wrong team, we beatin' on these suits." Muscular clown, massive and thick necked enough it looks like it doesn't exist. He's got half a hockey mask on the other half of his face looks like it's done up in the style of a tiger, a colorful one. His shoes are also way too big. Compensation shoes!

The last individual to speak is sitting on the hood of the car, picking at his teeth. His facepaint is ragged, bleeding with moisture and he has green-to-purple dreadlocks and a trenchcoat, "Oh… the hey… I think thats uh… " He goes quiet, grinning. Why not.

On the ground the three suits are still covering themselves. The driver well he looks dead, his head is rolled off to the side and one of his eyes is actually hanging out. A blond man is half drug himself underneath the limo and is reaching for something underneath. The biggest of the trio is getting the worst of the beating still. Several other clowns are still going to town, they're not distracted by the 'new guy'.

"I the fuck am the conductor of the crazy train." The Joker grins, walking over to the mostly unnoticed man half under the Limo and stomps on his chest several times. "Ya gotta. Let em. Feel it." Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. "Otherwise they-" He cuts off. Ugh. Amatuers. "Hey, pay attention." Out comes the luger he's so fond of and the nearest clown gets a shot in the knee.

Now he has the rest of the clowns attention, they have stopped beating on the bodyguard and are all forming a horeshoe around the Joker. "Whoah man, you're nuts." The skinny kid in the front with a mohawk says.
The big clown topples clutching his knee, "WAGH! HE SHOT ME! ow ow ow! It hurts so bad!" Rocking back and forth the giant criminal's colorful tiger paint begins to crinkle up with pain.
"HEY! That was my boifriend!" The tiny girl yelps before striking a two finger pose with her ass out then swinging the mallet at Joker.
"Oh she-it, y'all fucked up." The clown on the car says and hops down, off the back and out of the way. Walking to the backside of the mob. He recognizes the Joker. These other kids don't. Why interrupt the bossman's fun? Maybe someone else will be merciful and mention this guy is the real deal.
Ribs break, the blond man on the ground lets out a wheezing sound and says, "Please stop… you don't understand… I was sent here… *kaff kaff*" Yeah, he is feelin' it. The thing he had in his hand a simple black chip, falls from his fingers as he curls in tight, clutching himself again.

The swing of the mallet is arrested by the Jokers forearm. That looks like that hurt a little but it doesnt seem to show on the mad clown's face. "Oh, you've got some spunk there. Maybe I should take you home to my Harley and let her break you in." Of course, this is followed up by a pistol butt to the throat so who knows how serious he was about that.

The Joker hums a little tune as he fires several more times. These clowns are good but they gotta learn that you have to feel the insanity. Otherwise its just bad makeup.

I cant decide whether you should live or die. Oh youll probably go to heaven, please dont hang your head and cry. No wonder why, my heart feels deaf inside. Its cold and hard and petrified. Lock the doors and close the blinds, we're goin' for a ride.

Flailing and kicking the big man howls until shock puts him under.
Tiny with the mallet goes down like a dropped sack of potatoes her throat clutched and her eyes bugged out of her head. The crocodile tears are immense.
"Hey, Mr.J… they don't know what they're doing. They're just crazy kids. They didn't know it was you." The clown in the trench with the dreads says his hands held up palms out. Though he is feeling a moment of mercy it probably won't last.
The clowns who were kicking the bodyguard in to a pile of meatloaf have started running. Full on blitz through the snow. No stomach.

The man upon the ground in the suit is still covering his head and face with his hands, he's in a bad way. "Live?" He questions almost meakly, kind of pathetic like.

The Jokers feeling a bit philosophical today. And hes not manic. If he had been the place would be a lot redder… and on fire. As it stands he shoots a few more times after the running clowns not really caring if he hits or not. The mans plea for life is ignored… or ,aybe the Joker didnt hear it, since he's a bit more interested in otherclown right now. "Kids these days." He cackels. "No morals. I approve." If thats what his approval looks like…

Joker does hit, one of them, maybe two or three but only one of them falls the other two keep moving in their mad dash for safety away from the lunatic supervillain. Gray matter and red vitae paints the snow nicely where the fallen clown lies. The speaking clown grabs the girl with the mallet by the arm and ushers her off with a kick to the ass, "Git." He says before looking back towards the Boss.
"Uh, welcome back to Gotham, sir?"
The suited man on the ground scrambles around for the black chip and picks it up, clutching it like it will save his life. "I was told to bring this to you and te… *KAFF KAFF*" Blood, upchuck, yep, chunks. He just spewed chunks ALLOVER the Joker's shoes and pant leg.

"What's this?" The chip is snached out of the sick and injured man's hand. The… vomit is scraped off casually on the suit jacket of his dead friend. "You should have that looked at." He says absently. Its not clear hes considered the fact that he did some of it.

"Whaddya think Sykes?" He asks otherclown. "Batsy? Nah… he doesnt subcontract to non animal fetishists… mmmm… not the police…" Hes considering just, you know, chucking it.

The man wipes his face and curls in on himself, "I need a doctor." He whimpers.
The clown shrugs his shoulders, last man standing after the colorful arrival of the Joker, "I dunno. I missed what he said when they first started up on him. Kinda just… ya know, watched. It looks like a guitar pick."
"Why you over here anyways? Thought you was off robbin' banks. It's kinda why these kids started up. They were all inspired again." The Joker has that effect on people.
The driver who looked clearly dead jerks upright and flops over in the snow. The left hand splays open and fingers snap-crackle before grabbing at the corpses own tie and helping pull it up to a sitting position.

"Thats uh… fucking weird." The clown Joker called Sykes states. Watching this little display.

The blond on the ground rasps, "The master…"

The Joker tilts his head. Whats this? Hes not used to dealing with the freaky and spooky. "I was, Sykes, but theres a city that needs a bit of chaos, All these suits and capes. Getting to stuffy here in Gotham. Time to loosen things up."

Like a mannequin the corpse of the driver lurches forward on invisible strings, it's wobbly walk strides it forward with knees bobbling in all directions as it slowly if not diligently moves to where the Joker had tossed the black chip. A hand slaps to the ground, digs in the snow and begins to flail about until slapping it up towards the air, held between two fingers. It stands poised like that, holding it aloft like a trophy before shoulders jerk forward, one then two - now legs move again and it starts to stomp through the slushy white to the Clown Prince himself, it's head falls far back, adam's apple pronounced at this impossible angle. It's eyes lifeless staring skyward, straight at the heavens.
"The master… he wants you to take it." The man on the ground now sits up on his knees, says, he is pink eyed from all the pain, looks battered to a point of nearly unrecognizable but seems determined, "You shot the messenger… I was only delivering it. He is a big fan of yours… " A cufflink wipes the blood from his lips, "An agent of chaos like himself…"

Syke's grin is gone because this is weird. Like… cultist creepy movie kinda weird. "Yeah… I hear ya boss." He's responding because he knows he has to. He is sort of on autopilot right now. The hair on the back of his neck is standing up and out.

"And they call me creepy." Its not that the Joker cant feel fear. Its more that it never looks like it because the way he processes everything is so very alien. "Did the Master send you with drivers? Ah never mind. Sykes we'll go hold up a Starbucks." He can swipe some yuppies laptop and get a mochaccino while he's at it.

"You should probably see a doctor" He notes to the othe rguy. "Theres some decent hacks at Arkham." Anyone crazy enough to put up with this shit…

"You want me to take that thing the thing is carrying… the zombie?" Sykes asks as that black chip is still held in the air. "Man, I think this thing is grinning. Fuckin' weird."

The man on the ground is now standing, head bowed and clutching his ribs. Not because he is bowing to the Joker but because he cannot hold himself completely upright. "The masters power will sustain me… " Or so he hopes. "I was told… this was an invitation, that is your get out of jail free card they told me to say to you, that you might kill me… I am unafraid. I will be sustained."

"O.. kay." Sykes says quietly. Whacka-do.

The Joker's grinning again. Somewhat maliciously. "Awwwww. Someone's sending us a fan mail. It's cute, Sykes." He pronounces it kee-yoot. The Clown himself snatches up the chip again and pockets it. "Now don't you worry. I'll call the nice firefighters to take you to the nice hospital." He gets out a burner and dials 911, and drops it, knowing that even if it hangs up they'll respond.

"And when they get here, you can give them this…" A small canister of dilute Joker gas is placed in the man's lap on a timer. It… prooooobably won't kill anyone. But by the time its affects are felt the attentions of euphoric nurses and ER doctors… well, they'll certainly be entertaining.

The corpse crumples once the obsidian chip is taken. The man looks down at the canister then back at the Joker, "You and the master will bring a glorious new day." The battered messenger grins broken teeth up at the Joker and clutches the gas tube as though it was his very own infant child. "I will wait for the paramedics… "
Sykes hops in to the limo after taking the driver's cap and placing it on his head. "Your chariot awaits, sir." Joyride through Gotham in a long sleek black limo? Why not. Maybe the boss will come up with some fun plans.

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