Another Laughing Matter

          I can hear rain tip-tapping on the outside portion of my cartoonish, dungeon of a cell— not that it bothers me. Make no mistake, I'm as good as free in Arkham. The doctors, the nurses, the guards, the gourmet cafeteria chefs... they all have a price— cured or uncured, sane or insane, and while I'm looking through my nonexistent window I am able to remind myself how good of a view I really have. Heh.
          Ol' sheriff Bats brought me into the slammer, yet again! He really is no fun these days. Not even a one-liner from the guy— how criminal! He's at the end of his ropes with Arkham, and from his perspective I can't say I blame him. Take a guy like the "Mad Hatter" for example, and might I add he certainly lives up to his name. I hear him blubbering to Cheshire Cat at least six times a night, HA! How can they look at him, claim he's cured within two weeks, spit him back into society, then wash, rinse, and - of course - repeat?
          Me, I'm indifferent to the situation. Why, I might go as far as to say I need a little rest and relaxation now and again. This is my seventh vacation in the last sixth months— I've been absolutely spoiled.
          You see, I'm what you might refer to as maniacally reserved. I pick apart the patterns, make my perfect little plan then- WHAM! Right in the groin HAHA! After years of being a loyal customer, I can tell you more about this place than the warden himself. I know about the downers they slip in the coffee, I know about guards turning a blind eye, I know about Hugo Strange's "questionable" methods, and I know about Dr. Quinzel's growing little crush on your's truly. All are open secrets, to me anyway.
          When illustrating an asylum in media, they always tend to exaggerate. As if my riveting insight isn't convincing by itself, allow me to assure you— I know. While we do, of course, have the typical crazies like Hatter, he is not the everyman. I enjoy summing it up: There are two types of people in Arkham— the ones you can't trust, and the ones you really can't trust, ha. Of course, I would NEVER make the mistake of sharing with anyone other than my dearest Dark Knight, but some of these imbeciles really can't keep their mouths shut. I mean seriously— I've seen this place more gossipy than an all-girls schoolyard! I digress.
I've grown accustomed to the place. I enjoy it, actually. My home away from home. Casá de la muah. Certainly always——— ha.

          Dr. Quinzel is always perfectly on time. I am able to easily distinguish the click of her heels from the rest of the female staff. The pace of her walk speaks for her. As expected, she is coming to little ol' me. I lean back on my cot and can't help but smile. Ahhh, predictability— how I love thee.
"Patient 9965, it's time for your evaluation,"she begins, unlocking my cell as a guard approaches to escort us. Arkham's privacy policy requires her to address me by my ID while within the vicinity of others. I've never cared for policies.
"Harley! What's up, doc?" I greet her with a smile, holding her gaze long enough to make her blush. All too easy.
"Dr. Quinzel," she corrects me while sliding open the door.
Our chaperone rushes in to cuff me. I scoff. Like I'm dumb enough to try to escape during the funniest part of my stay.
Over the years a few staff birdies have caught my eye, each one eventually being caught BY my eye, heh. A certain kind of girl is vulnerable to me, all of which - fortunately - seem to work here HAHA! Let's see... There was the one with hopes of being a tap-dancer, the one with a 'DAMAGED' tattoo right below her collar bone (whatta chump), the one with the nice ass— my list goes on. All were good for a late night rendezvous between my shitty cot sheets. Dr. Quinzel, however, goes a teeny bit beyond that. Other than the fact I have yet to bed her, she puzzles me..... but only slightly.
As the guard guides us to our usual room, I decide to test my luck with her.
"Harley, I can't help but notice your change of attire. Why... you've ditched your black skirt! Purple suits you well you know," I chuckle, knowing she wore it for me.
"Quiet, 9965," the guard barks from behind us.
I can't help but laugh as I turn my head to look at him,"Randy, my boy, has 30 got you down? Your hair's reciting even more than the last time! I've been there."
Again, I find myself laughing at his dismay. Dr. Quinzel emits a soft giggle alongside me— how endearing.
I nod to Randy boy as he opens the door for me. Such a courteous gentlemen, isn't he? Thankfully he will be leaving soon. For a brief moment the door shuts behind me and I am alone inside the room, smiling to no one. The two exchange a few words that I cannot fully understand, then the door reopens and exposes exclusively Dr. Quinzel. Again, the door shuts.
"And then there were two," I smirk.
She pulls out her chair and sits down across from me, matching my smile with one of her own. This will be our twenty-third meeting with one another. I would be lying if I said I don't find her attractive, but I would be truthing if I said I could not care less, hah.
"How are you doing, sir? Feeling any better since the last time we spoke?"
"Sir," I mock her tone, snickering,"Why so formal, my dear?"
She shifts in her seat before meeting my gaze, then reaches for my wrists still bound in handcuffs. She avoids my question. I'll give her the pass. Gently she strokes my bleached skin, and for a moment I think I may find a way to fuck her here.
"Do you want them off?"
"Hmph... like you've got the means to unlock it."
Her smile turns sly, reaching in her coat pocket and revealing a tiny key. Swiftly she unlocks them, my hands now free to do as they please.
"I told him it was the only way to get you to open up, that you used it as a bargaining tool in our meetings past," she explains, sliding the key back into her pocket.
She can be clever, but still all-too naive. She thinks we are on the same page— it's as if she truly believes she knows me. Again, I smile at her. I would like her to continue thinking as such.
"Harley, you little minx! I'm flattered. And you do this for all of your... patients?"
She shakes her head 'no,' slightly blushing again as she smiles at me. Her blonde hair is out of its bun for a change, reaching past her shoulders. I prefer when she wears it up.
"I need to have an update to give them. It's the only way they'll let me keep doing this for you— and don't say you're upset because you want a room by the pool. That one didn't go over very well."
I laugh in remembrance of our last encounter. I always knew stand-up was my calling.
"It's a shame, I was hoping this time we could discuss the lack of fresh towels."
I laugh again, this time with her accompaniment. I make her laugh so effortlessly.
"Joker," she starts, attempting to redirect the conversation. I enjoy hearing her say my name. I learned yesterday she is no longer supposed to address me as such. Her cohorts believe it feeds into my 'delusion.' Just like me she knows I have something much deeper than delusions, ha.
          "Let's start with this: Why do you think you've been brought back to Arkham?"
My laugh is like a trumpet played staccato as I shake my head,"I think you know the answer."
"I need to hear it from you."
"Hm....... Alright, alright, you've convinced me. After all, it is nice having someone to turn to..." I trail off and watch her eyes flicker with excitement. She is gullible and easy to please.
"For years I've been brought to Arkham fighting and clawing against the wretched hands of Batman — No! Please, Bats! Please don't take me back to the looney bin!' — although recently I've had a change of heart."
Her look is inquisitive and hopeful simultaneously, exactly the way I thought it would be. She will have to press me before I continue. Why volunteer information when there's the possibility you can get something first?
"A change of... heart? Elaborate."
"The ol' figure of speech, sweets. An idiom, to be exact."
"I'm aware," she states, frustration peeking through,"I'll clarify. What is the reasoning behind your, erm, 'change of heart,' as you put it?"
I flash her a smirk and begin to chuckle,"It's just that.... oh, but I shouldn't."
"You're playing games with me again."
I told you she was clever.
"Perhaps... or maybe I'm just too embarrassed to tell you."
"Tell me what?"
Despite knowing and calling out a bluff, she is still emotionally vulnerable. The mind will assume what it wants when given the chance. One cannot be simply be deceived. They must first allow themselves to be.
"Harley," I begin, my voice pitched low as I methodically inch closer,"I've found the punchline to my joke."
It is a metaphor so vague she can staple it to any meaning she would like.
Her eyes widen and her mouth hangs open,"Y-you have?"
HAHA!
I nod,"Mmhm."
She leans in closer, wanting me to explain more. I will stall the moment.
"I..." she trails off,"Have you been searching for the 'punchline' for an extended period of time?"
"Mmm... Call me a sap, but I like to think fate has been holding out for me to find the right fit. After all, there isn't a joke without the one."
A knock on the door interrupts us. I can tell by the shadow it's Randy. For some reason our session has been cut short. I couldn't have planned it better myself!
"Just a minute," Harley pipes up, holding on to what little bit of privacy we have left.
          "We'll talk more later," she whispers before standing up and attempting to redo my dreaded cuffs.
          I stop her, grabbing her hand in mine,"I'll be looking forward to it, Harley."
          She shivers at my touch, which I welcome. I merge into my 'good-boy' image and take the liberty of cuffing myself. Batman would be so proud.
          The knock arrives again, this time with more urgency. Dr. Quinzel rushes to get the door and a panicked Randy awaits us.
          "It's the frozen guy!" he sees me and realizes his mistake,"I mean— er — 9734! He's gone all nutso about some Nora chick! We need someone who can calm him down."
          I laugh and shake my head,"So what do you want me to do about it?"
          They both try to ignore me.
          "I'll calm down 9734, and you take 9965 back to his cell,"she directs, pushing past both Randy and me.
          "I'll see you later tonight, doctor. This time for dinner and a movie— my place!"
          She ignores me yet again as she heads in what I assume to be Freeze's direction. I know I will be interrupting her thoughts as she deals with the situation.
          "Let's go," he orders, grabbing me by the collar of my baby blue gown.
          "You've got the hots for her, don't you, Randy? Following silly rules solely when she's around, pretending to be the tough guy we all know you aren't... I'll admit she's a looker, but her eyes will never land on you HAHA!"
          This angers him, his hand landing on my throat. His patience has been wearing thin with me for quite some time now. He begins to choke me and we stop walking. I'm still managing to laugh.
           "You're going to find out very quickly this is not another laughing matter."
          I give him exactly three more seconds to believe he is in control. I then elbow him in the spleen. He falls to the ground instantly. I extract the tiny key from his shirt pocket, afterward kneeing him in the nose. As blood spurts upward toward me, I am confident it is broken. Once again I am laughing, running gleefully through the halls of the holding cells before I am reported as a Code X.
          I stop by Dr. Quinzel's empty office, then embark once again. Just like riding a bike, the process of escaping Arkham will come back to me quickly. Within minutes I am out of the building. By the time I am beyond Arkham's gates she will surely have read and hid my note.

'Tonight. 2030 Vires Ave. — Jekko's Toy Factory. Dinner and a movie wasn't a joke.
— J.'