I could tell the minute we pulled up that the restaurant was definitely five star. That makes me a little nervous. Having class and rich people etiquette is normally something one learns because they're born into it. Jester was born into it. This Russian mobster, Maxim whoever, was born into it. However, some people pick it up along the way. Those who become a part of that environment. Like the Joker, he picked up his because he was around rich mafioso's from his teens. With Jason, he was adopted by one of the richest men in the world.
But me, I'd had neither kind of exposure to this lifestyle. I was just a normal person. But WAS is the key word in that sentence. But now that I'm running in the inner circle of the goddamn Joker, dating his twin, and know Robin number two/ the Red Hood was posing as the Joker back in Gotham... well looks like I'd better learn how to be a rich man's woman. A woman of station and dignity.
As we're sitting down at the table J and Jester both pull out chairs for Alexis and I. They did it in perfect synchronicity. Like mirror images. But let's look at the facts here, they're from a single egg which split identically. They had more simpatico than the kinds you'd have with a best friend or a lover. This was really the first time I was around them together, the only other time being when we tried to kill the Joker.
But beyond their sharing of that split egg, they weren't at all hard to distinguish from each other. They had entirely different demeanors. They walked differently. The speed and gait was the same, but the way they...carried themselves was different. That was never more evident than now as these Russians are practically bowing at Jester's feet and he looks uncomfortable with it. If it was the Joker, he'd relish every second.
Eventually Vodka arrives at the table. We're each poured a glass. Maxim holds his up with a humbled face, "Vee drink to Jester. Weethout heem, half of us probably dead by now. Hee change our world. You haave my undying gratitude for life," he tips his glass at Jester.
Jester's POV
I still see the faces of every person I've ever killed. They were etched in my brain. I wonder if I always would?
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Wonder if enough shock therapy could take them away from me? I understand that I had to do what I did to get Lucy back. But I carry a stain on my soul because of it. I certainly didn't see anything to celebrate. It's ironic that one of my worst deeds and biggest regrets is what I'm most admired for. I wonder if war veterans feel this way when people thank them for their service?
I wish I could say that I'd never taken pleasure in killing. But it would be a lie. I had taken pleasure in killing most of them. Because some of them deserved it, or jeopardized someone I loved. Or like with Ace, vindictively. Which pretty much made me exactly like J. My death toll just wasn't as high. Nor was I quite as numb to it all as J had become. But look how much longer he had been at it than me...
But I know my part at the moment is to raise my glass, cordially nod, and give a small speech. So that's exactly what I do. "I didn't exactly work alone. You and your men very much helped me to make it possible to rid your organization of a decades long problem. But I am humbled by your graciousness and hospitality," and I give one last affirmative head nod. Then I take a drink of my vodka.
