Chapter Text
Welcome to my first story on AO3. I first posted this on Fanfiction.net more than a year ago but since I've been on this site more often lately, I thought I'd expand. Please enjoy.
Joker-
“Well, what do we have here?” Gotham’s Clown Prince of Crime said, poking at the strange object in the gutter with his toe. It had been looking like a night of wasted potential until he came upon this little beauty.
“I don’t know, boss,” mumbled a thug in white grease paint. “Looks like a skeleton in a boa to me.” He looked more like a mime than a clown but Joker was okay with that. He didn’t have them around for the conversation anyway, as proven by the stunning insight of the comment.
“Yes, I see that,” Joker snapped with his ever present grin, “and with an afro. Oh, I love it.” He laughed loudly, excited by the possibilities. “Bring it with us; it can be a party decoration.” He spied a pink guitar nearby. “Grab that, too; it looks festive.” He left the details to his men, chuckling to himself. He never even considered why the skeleton was lying in the ditch, half covered in dirty water. They’d have to dry the thing out, of course. But oh the fun he could have with it. He could scare Batman with it, or better yet one of those brats that was always hanging around the caped crusader. Maybe, when he got bored of the thing, he could tie it to the Batmobile’s hood. That would be worth a laugh.
Joker’s current two thugs exchanged a look but knew better than to question their boss; it was better for their health. They picked up the skeleton and carried it, dripping ditch water, all the way to the Joker’s lair, this time a burned out theater. Batman had trashed their last pad, from a simple misunderstanding about the health benefits of laughter for Gotham’s elite. They were still settling in, since they had only moved a few days ago. It would take some time to reach Joker’s standards.
Once inside, Joker rushed about trying to figure out the best place for his newest acquisition. “Here?” he said, holding his thumb out to measure a recess. “No, over here; or maybe over here?” It took a few circuits around the room before he finally decided. “I know, hang it from the chandelier, boys!” He laughed as he imagined how it would look. Batman would love it. “It’ll be perfect.”
“How do we do that, boss?” one of henchmen asked, confused.
“I don’t care how you do it, you oafs. Just get it up there,” Joker snarled, his smile still in place, “or else. Oh and dry it out first. It smells like dirty ditch water.”
The two thugs stared up at the chandelier high above their heads for several moments. They exchanged a look of bewilderment. It wasn’t like they were hired for their problem solving skills. Finally one of them, they looked the same with the thick grease paint and similar build (Joker liked the symmetry), went to grab a ladder and rope while the other grabbed a hair dryer to start drying the thing.
Joker left them to it and walked into the back of the stage where he had set up his personal stuff. “I have to do all the thinking around here, it’s exhausting.” He slumped in a chair before a traditional actor’s vanity, though most of the bulbs around the edge of the mirror were blown or broken. He looked at the picture of stuck in the frame. It was from a newspaper clipping of one of his jewelry heists and showed him and Harley Quinn decked out in stolen gold chains and diamond necklaces. They had posed for the newspaper man before a running off for a thrilling chase with Batman. They got away, too. “Maybe I should see about convincing Harley to come back.” Though if he did that, he’d have to steal the hyenas back from the zoo for her. That would be a huge hassle.
Suddenly, Joker heard a girlish scream come from the front of the theater, and he stormed out of his room in a rage. “What now, you fools?” he shouted. “Why can’t I find any good help?” he mumbled to himself.
The thugs ran and hid behind their boss as soon as they saw him and pointed with shaking fingers at the skeleton which had sat up and was looking around.
“We was just drying it, boss,” one of the thugs whispered. “Then, when it was about dry it started movin’.”Joker’s jaw dropped, even he was speechless. The skeleton, however, was not.
“Oh my brain hurts,” it said holding a bony hand to its afro. It turned and looked at the slack jawed clown and his cowering henchmen. The skull opened its mouth in a toothy grin, “Oh but I don’t have a brain. Yohohoho. Skull Joke!”
“What in blue blazes are you?” Joker said, finally regaining his composure. He walked forward and bravely shook a finger at the skeleton. “I’ll have you know I’m the only jokester around here.”
“I see, well I am merely a humble musician and a pirate. Though I do have my moments of hilarity, yohohoho,” the skeleton said. He stood up and ran bony fingers over his pants and jacket, trying to smooth them back into order. He turned and took a deep bow. “My name is Soul King Brook, of the Strawhat pirates.”
Joker’s eyebrows twitched. “I’m the Joker, the Clown Prince of Crime,” he offered. No need to ignore his manners, after all. “Did you say pirates?”
“Indeed, and my heart swells with pride with the title,” Brook said, tilting his head to give an impression of a wink (quite a feat without eyelids, or eyes). “Though I have no heart! Yohohoho!” He laughed honestly, holding nothing back. He leaned on a cane (that Joker didn’t remember him having), as he took in his surroundings. “Quite a nice place you have here.”
Joker decided he quite liked this strange fellow. Anyone with a sense of humor that morbid can’t be all bad. He sat down in one of the few upright chairs in the theater and grinned at his new guest.
“I think I like you, Brook. So tell me, how did you become…” he gestured at Brook’s condition with one hand, “dearly departed?”
“Well that is a story,” Brook said, picking up the pink, shark-shaped guitar, clearly it was his originally. It fit his strange ensemble. “A wonderful and long tale full of longer than lifelong friends and tragedy to make even a clown like yourself cry.” He started to strum a few bars and quirked his head to the side, waiting for a reaction from Joker.
“I’d love to hear it,” Joker said settling back and waving for his men to do likewise. They sat, gingerly, still keeping their boss between them and Brook.
Brook nodded happily and picked up the pace on his guitar. “Our story truly began with a baby whale and a song.”
“Wait, wait, wait!” Joker jumped to his feet, shouting. “Something about this is wrong.” He pointed at his minions. “What is wrong with this picture?”
“I don’t know, Boss,” the man answered with a timid shrug.
Joker ran a hand over his face in annoyance. There was something missing. If he was putting on the show, what would he need? “I have it!” he shouted. “An audience is what we need. Can’t tell an epic story without an audience, you know.”
Brook stilled his music with one gaunt hand. “I must agree, of course but where would we find one? I am a stranger to this place. In fact I was wandering, lost, when I slipped and fell into a ditch. Can you believe it? The water zapped my strength and I must have blacked out. Next thing I know I woke up here. I seem to be very much out of my element, adrift in the wind, an aimless spirit haunting this mortal coil. Yo ho ho ho.”
“Oh, leave that to me. I know just where to steal one,” Joker said, not paying attention to his new friend’s ramblings. He started to laugh manically, his bone chilling chuckles quickly joined by a bone rattling “yo ho ho”.