Daughter of the Timeless

King of Gotham

We've reached the back of the club, which I assume is midway through the massive warehouse, and climb another set of stairs. A dark wooden door stand before us in another foyer, identical to the one we entered. Two men stand on either side, poised with guns. With a nod from Vorch, the stand aside as they open the doors.

Inside is another strobing room, with stripper poles placed in a smile formation on spinning platforms that almost look like metallic pearls. The walls are dark, the roof seems to be ever hidden above us. In the back of the room is a woman dancing in front of an entourage of men. I can only assume the veil they form hides the Joker and his crew.

We step down, moving forward in unison. Vorch nods to the veil of men watching the woman dance, and sitting on a leather booth couch sits an almost never aging Joker. His tattoos in array and his skin death white and hair poison green.

A man standing by him in a 70's disco outfit bumps his shoulder and points toward me. This man has short curly black hair, almost green and hazel eyes, and olive skin. A patchy goatee covers his chin, cropped super short. Must be there to add age, because with most men, they look older with a beard. More mature. But there would be no mistaking his maturity of at least mid-20's with the puffy skin around his eyes and the purple shade that makes him look stressed and tired.

"Welcome!" The Joker sings, standing up extending his arms outward like wings.

"You must be the Princess, everyone has been awaiting. Why aren't you a lovely little thing." He says circling me and separating me from Doyle. He curls a lock of my hair in his hand as he revolves me.  "Why your beauty surpasses that of my Harley and Delia. No doubt because of the alien and the Amazon in your genes. If only I knew who the Bat was, maybe I would even see if you look like him." He says slowly and narrowing his eyes.

"She's here. Our deal is done." Doyle says from behind me.

"Oh, our deal is done?" Joker says clasping his hands together. He laughs, and everyone laughs, except me, Doyle and the disco dude. "Well, well. She's mine is she?" He says circling me and touching my hair again.

I grab his hand and push it back to his side. His eyes go from a lustful violence to a suppressed hysterical look. His eyes water with laughter. He bends his neck backward and when he cackles the silver grill in his mouth glints in the strobing and gold light. His mouth almost looks rotten and black.

"She comes in here. She pushes my hand away?" He laughs, almost buckled over from the hilarity. "Darling, I am the King of Gotham, and if you weren't the Princess, I would have cut your hand off just now." He says grabbing me by the face, another hand on the back of my neck. His face is just centimeters from mine, our eyes leveled. His just full of insanity and evil.

"But since I am in the way of hospitality, and you are now my Princess, I will let that go. Maybe over time you will learn respect and fill the place of my oh, so disappointing daughter Delia. Good thing Rich isn't her way. Sad thing he isn't even mildly insane!" He says snapping his hand off of my face and looking away abruptly to laugh with his audience. 

"You can leave super-clone. The princess will serve with her King."