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[ashortdropandasuddenstop]

James’ jaw clenched as he watched the two longboats of the Sea Turtle struggle toward the Interceptor, the crew desperate, waving flags, and holding up a puppy even. It was a plea, a pathetic one, but it was a plea nonetheless. His eyes darted to the pirate ship, the Ranger, with its black flag now unfurled, dancing wickedly in the wind. It dawned on him who he was facing. They had no time to waste.

“Mr. Groves!” James barked sharply, his hand gripping the wheel. “Split the crew. Half of you tend to the lifeboats, make sure they’re on board and secure, and keep them off the pirate’s line of fire. The rest stay with me—prepare to face the Ranger.” With that flag flying James was not stupid. He'd heard of this vessel and, by extent, her Captain.

Groves hesitated for a heartbeat, eyeing the situation. “Sir, we can’t do both—”

“Do both or we lose them both,” James snapped. His mind raced. The Interceptor was fast, faster than most, but they couldn’t outrun the Ranger forever. Not with the storm rolling in. Not with a pirate crew that had no mercy in them. “Get the merchants to safety first. They’ll need every second.”

“Aye, Commodore,” Groves muttered, though the unease was visible in his eyes. But there was no time for uncertainty. Orders had been given.

The ship pitched slightly as the wind picked up. James felt the weight of the moment press down on him. He watched the Sea Turtle’s battered crew scramble,in the longboats. Some of them didn’t look as if they could make it—their hope clearly fading as the Ranger moved closer, looming like a predator.

James turned to his other lieutenant. “ Gillette! Ready the guns, but don’t fire unless I say so. If they think we’re soft, they’ll come in close.” His eyes narrowed at the Ranger. James could practically hear their taunts on the wind.

“Aye, Sir,” Gillette replied, already barking out orders to the crew. The Interceptor would be ready. But the question was, would they be enough?

The merchant ship’s longboats were almost there, just a few more yards. James could see the desperation in their faces, could see the shift in the wind—the storm was about to break. He had no illusions about the Ranger. They wouldn’t hesitate. He had to give the merchants a fighting chance, even if it meant risking everything for them.

“Load the guns! Double-check the powder!” Lieutenant Gillette bellowed, his voice cutting through the air with authority. The men closest to the cannon stations moved quickly, their faces set in a sort of grim determination.

James stepped forward, watching as the sailors worked like clockwork, hauling powder kegs with practiced ease. Each man knew his station, each knew what was at stake. There was no time to waste—every second counted.

“Steady, men,” Gillette called out, his hands moving swiftly as he assisted with the cannonballs. “Make sure they’re primed! We need to be ready for anything, especially that Ranger.”

The cannons themselves were already being loaded with iron shots, their muzzles heavy and waiting, aimed out toward the pirate ship. The sailors worked quickly, the scrape of metal on metal echoing in the air, punctuated only by the occasional shout of a crewman calling for more powder or a rope being adjusted.

"Captain? Do you--" but Jack hushed himself, realizing perhaps that there was no point in asking more. Rackham wasn't a complete fool, no matter how much he might look it.

The rest of the question was unnecessary. Vane could see the Navy ship just as well as the rest of them. That had to be the Interceptor. She was small but she was fast, and had a reputation for maneuverability that almost matched the Ranger -- assuming her commander had a pair. And, by all accounts, he did. Charles had wondered a time or two about Commodore James Norrington; rumors flew with the gulls in the Caribbean, and strange tales of the officer reached far and wide. The company he kept, the choices he made, what sort of a leader he was...

"A good man, by all accounts," he said, looking steadily at the Navy ship--looking beyond their poor prey, a hapless and painfully damaged merchant whose time was now measured not by a clock, but by the waves.

"What? Who? Commodore Norrington?"

"Mm."

Jack's nose twitched. "I--supposed. I've heard he's... very dedicate to his job." The hint of warning, or perhaps plea, in Jack's voice was impossible to miss.

Captain Charles Vane looked at him for a long moment, then smiled and shook his head. "Makes two of us," he said, humor warming his grim, calm voice. "Run up the colors."

They'd been avoiding it until now--no need to scare the merchants quite that badly. The Ranger had one hell of a reputation in these waters--ruthlessness, seamanship, and an unquenchable thirst. The ship was light and small and maneuverable--quick as a knife when it came to the kill. Putting up their flag could incite panic in a targeted crew, mutiny if the captain was a fool--and should be an adequate warning to the Navy vessel to find some other good deed for the day.

Not that he expected this Norrington fellow to see reason, Vane thought with dark pleasure, wrapping a scarf around his hair and looking up as their flag danced into the rigging, unfurling proudly with a sharp snap of wind.

Alright, Navyman. You want to risk it all, to save a few merchants? You're gambling with their lives now. You can try to reach them first--but I want to know who hulled them, and why they're still alive after an obvious attack.

The Interceptor couldn't see the damage on the port side of the merchantman, had no way of knowing about the gaping hole at the waterline--but surely the list and the frantic activity of her crew would tell them something.

"Keep the merchantman between us," he ordered, not that the Rangers particularly needed to hear it; the majority of the men on this ship had far more experience than most, and the crew tended towards being slightly older than many pirates. There were more exciting ships for the very young to work on, for the lads who hadn't figured out how to shave yet. More heroic ones, more dashing ones, less--morally complicated ones. But the serious pirates, the ones who knew what they wanted and how to get it?

They always found their way to the Ranger. And none of them would balk at using innocent victims as a meat shield against the Navy.

Thunder rolled across the sea, crackling and echoing off the rising swells.

-

Meanwhile, on board the Sea Turtle, the badly damaged merchant ship...

"It's got to be the Interceptor!" someone shouted in relief, a young man whose hand shook terribly around the pistol he was gripping, and which he had never yet figured out how to load. "We're saved! Them pirate won't mess with--"

"Look!" someone else shouted. "Look at the pirates!"

The crew, who had been running, trying to maintain some kind of damage control, trying to pump hard and fast enough that they might limp into the nearest port, all seemed to go still at once.

As they watched, the pirate vessel put up a flag--black, with symbols red as blood. A dagger, a skull, a heart.

"Th... that's the Ranger, then," Captain Cordell said mournfully, mopping at his brow. Seeing the Navy show up, he'd had a glimmer of hope--but what was the point? What was the point in watching those brave Navy lads die for them? For cargo? And with them just having been attacked by that other bastard, a heavy ship that fired from a distance and ran off... But the Ranger won't run. They'll just kill us all. Us and them.

"Put the boats over the side," he called, "and--damn it. Abandon ship! Put them over, put them over, abandon ship! Make for the Interceptor, row like your bloody lives depend on it!"

They do. Let the pirates take the ship. Let 'em take it, but dear God, let us make it out alive--and keep us out of their hands. Please, please keep us out of their hands.

He hurried down belowdecks, without checking to see if his orders were being followed. Whether they abandoned ship or were slaughtered in the next few minutes, it hardly mattered now--but he did have one secret yet to keep, to protect, whatever the cost...

Moments later, the merchant's two longboats were awkwardly lowered, one dropping badly to the water below, the crewmen struggling with the list. As frantic men began rowing--messily, not at all together--they headed straight for the Interceptor, one boy desperately waving an English flag, another holding up a puppy, as if the Navy needed to be bribed to save them.

[ashortdropandasuddenstop]

[ashortdropandasuddenstop]

Noble Blood

The orders had been vague, but with enough clarity that James could adequately perform his task. Commodore Norrington did not ask questions when the East India Trading Company made demands.

A man of status—Count Orlok—was to be given safe passage aboard the Dauntless, along with a handful of belongings, including several large, iron-bound crates. No details had been provided beyond that. No explanation as to why a nobleman required a naval escort rather than a private vessel, nor why the orders had been delivered with such urgency.

Norrington stood at the gangplank, watching as his men strained to load the final crate. The night air was thick with the scent of salt and damp wood, but something else clung to it—something stale, almost like earth turned over in a crypt. He dismissed the thought as foolishness. The hour was late, and exhaustion had a way of making shadows seem deeper than they were.

“Steady,” he called out as one of the sailors nearly lost his grip. The crate thudded against the deck, its weight unnatural. A few of the men exchanged wary glances, muttering under their breath.

Norrington took a slow breath, adjusting his coat. He would allow no superstition aboard his ship. Whatever cargo this Count Orlok carried, it was none of his concern. His duty was to see the man to his destination and nothing more.

And yet, as the last crate was secured, the air itself seemed to still.

The guest of honor had yet to appear.

Norrington squared his shoulders, glancing toward the dock. Any moment now, their passenger would board. Until then, the unease coiling in his chest remained unspoken, shared only in the nervous glances of his men. None of them wanted to be out here this late in this fog.

[ashortdropandasuddenstop]

The moment the lock gave way with a sharp pop, James felt a rush of relief—short-lived as it was. Harley was quick, careful, her nimble fingers working to remove the chain without letting it drag across his skin. But even as the burning weight lifted from his shoulders, something far worse settled in its place.

The scent.

It wasn’t just in the air—it was in his lungs, in his throat, curling around his ribs like a vice. It wanted him to react. Begged him to.

James stiffened, his jaw locking so tightly it ached. His fangs had already pressed into his bottom lip, the faintest sting a reminder of what he was. What he needed.

Then Harley spoke.

James.. I know you’re weak.. And I can smell.. D’ya think you can control yourself to only take a lil’?

He flinched as if struck.

Slowly, James pulled himself away from her, every muscle taut as he moved—deliberate, restrained. He backed toward the farthest corner of the cell, pressing himself against the cold stone like he could sink into it, disappear entirely. His hands curled into fists at his sides, nails biting into his palms.

“No.” The word was quiet but firm, despite the hunger clawing at his insides. He forced himself to meet her eyes, even as his vision swam with the deep, pulsing red of her heartbeat. “Absolutely not.”

His fingers twitched as she reached for her throat—not in fear, but in offering. His stomach twisted violently.

“Harley, don’t,” he hisses, with an inhuman sound, his voice sharper now, more desperate than he intended. He exhaled, trying to steady himself. “I need you to listen to me. Keep your distance.”

His back hit the wall, letting himself not breathe, only if to speak. He clenched his teeth against the sharp edge of hunger, the gnawing ache of it so much worse now that the silver was gone.

“I-I will keep control,” he swore, voice tight. “For as long as I can.” His fingers flexed against the stone. “But I don’t trust myself. N-not right now.”

James swallowed hard, forcing himself to keep his focus locked on her, on the worry in her eyes rather than the heat of her pulse beneath her skin.

“So please, Harley.” His voice was quieter now, pleading. “Just… stay back.” Surely there was a way out, if there was a way IN.

“   there’s   gotta   be   a   way   out   of   this  !   ” ( have fun being captured with James )

@ashortdropandasuddenstop

Those were the first words Harley heard when she awoke in the tiny room. She looked around, clearing the fog from her mind with each blink. “Wh-what happened? How’d we get here?”

Harley stood on shaky legs and leaned against the wall behind her. She gave him a smile and nodded. “If anybody’s gonna find a way out I’m sure it’s you. James where are we? They didn’t hurt ya did they?” At this point Harley wasn’t even sure who ‘they’ were.

[ashortdropandasuddenstop]

He had expected fear. Expected panic. But not this. Not the way Will looked up at him, wide-eyed, as though the warmth of a simple coat had left him completely adrift.

Then—hesitation. A nod, then a shake of his head. A grimace as he tried to stand, only to falter when his ankle refused to bear his weight. James moved instinctively, steadying him with careful hands before his gaze flickered down to the scraped palm Will had reluctantly shown him.

"That will need salve," he murmured, voice even, as though discussing nothing more urgent than a torn glove. His tone gave no room for shame, no hint of scrutiny. Just quiet practicality.

Straightening, he cast a sharp glance toward the man who had shoved Will. The offender had been held back by two marines, shifting uncomfortably under the Captain’s gaze.

"A fine, 20 shillings" James declared curtly. "Let it be paid in full by sundown." He did not raise his voice, nor did he need to. His Lieutenants nodded in understanding—this would not be a matter up for debate.

With that handled, he turned back to Will. No more standing on ceremony. No more hesitation. James slid an arm firmly around his back, a quiet but undeniable support.

"Come William," he said, his voice softer now, meant for Will alone. "Lean on me."

And then, without waiting for protest, he guided him forward. Step by step, James bore part of his weight, careful not to jostle him, moving with deliberate steadiness as he led Will toward his office.

Where no prying eyes would follow.

Will visibly flinched back as Norrington knelt beside him, saw when he noticed, and broke down with a quiet sob. He continued to keep his arms wrapped tightly around his chest, shaking beside the Captain as he looked up, noticing that, thankfully, no one seemed to be paying them any real mind. He scrubbed at his face, where tears thankfully mixed with the saltwater dripping from his hair. He couldn't breathe, like he was choking on his breath, waiting for the judgement and...

warmth? He looked up at the Captain with wide eyes as he settled his coat around his shoulders, entirely unsure what was going on, only to nod... and then shake his head no... and then grimace as he tried to rise and put weight on his ankle. He was so gentle, and that was not something Will had ever expected. He gulped and squeezed his eyes shut and drew a shaky breath before showing a scraped hand as well.

[ashortdropandasuddenstop]

Norrington arched an eyebrow and let a snide smirk play across his lips. "Caspian Wolfe, is it? With a name like that, I'd expect the aroma of a regal beast—and not the persistent whiff of wet dog." He stepped a tad closer, his gaze flicking dismissively to the tense pack behind Caspian. "Or.. ah.. Dogs.. " Vampires and Werewolves do usually detest one another. A natural rivalry as it were. James' scent of old death probably didn't fair much better. "The name is Norrington. James Norrington. How do you do?" he smirked.

“ Can I help?”

"Probably not. Just who the devil are you, anyway?"

[ashortdropandasuddenstop]

The wind tore across the deck of the Interceptor, whipping at Commodore Norrington’s coat as he stood at the bow, gaze fixed on the wounded merchant ship ahead. She was struggling—sails in tatters, hull listing, her crew barely managing to keep her afloat. But she was not alone.

A second ship sliced through the water toward her, its colors not yet visible through the haze of sea spray and storm-light. Pirate.

James’ jaw tightened. He had no need to see the flag to know what he was dealing with. No honest ship sailed with such an air of practiced menace.

He turned sharply. “Mr. Groves, bring us alongside her before they do. I want men ready to board the merchantman the moment we’re within range.”

Groves nodded, already barking orders. The Interceptor had speed—more than most vessels in His Majesty’s Navy—and James would see to it they reached the merchant vessel first. If that pirate intended to scavenge from a dying ship, they would be sorely disappointed.

A crack of thunder rolled across the sea, distant but growing closer. The storm was coming.

So was he.

@doublejango

[ashortdropandasuddenstop]

When Will ran, blind with urgency, he seemed to barely register the person in his path—until they shoved him aside. And before he could scramble up, a sharp voice cut through the commotion.

"Restrain that man!" Norrington’s command was immediate, laced with authority. The offender barely had time to protest before a pair of marines stepped forward, taking hold of him.

Norrington, however, was already moving—kneeling beside Will, reaching out to help him up. Then, as Will shifted, trying to gather himself, Norrington saw it.

The way the soaked fabric clung, outlining a truth Will had not yet spoken. The way his arm shot up, desperate to shield himself from sight. And in that moment, something in Norrington’s chest twisted—not in judgment, but in understanding.

He knew what it was to guard a truth so fiercely that the mere threat of exposure sent terror through one’s bones.

Without hesitation, without drawing attention, he shrugged off his coat. In one smooth motion, he draped it over Will’s shoulders—not as an order, not as a demand, but as a quiet offering.

His voice lowered, steady. Private.

"Are you hurt?"

Will didn't stop, doing everything he could to dodge into and around crowds, determined to not be caught. He couldn't be caught. If he got caught, who knew what might happen? Tears filled his eyes as he ran, but he still didn't stop. He earned many a disapproving shout and glare, before finally being shoved and sliding, falling down and scraping his hands hard on the cobblestones. He still did his best to scramble back to his dirty, unshod feet, determined to duck into somewhere to hide.

[ashortdropandasuddenstop]

Captain Norrington watched the scene unfold with sharp, assessing eyes. The rowdiness of youth was nothing new along the docks, but the instant William hit the water, Norrington’s stance shifted—straightening, muscles tensing. Something about the way the boy surfaced, the raw panic in his movement, struck him as wrong. Will wasn't merely startled—he was afraid.

James had just come over to try and be of assistance, barking at the boys who shoved Turner, that it would be an arrest next time, when those big brown eyes met his own green ones, and then—he ran.

Norrington didn’t hesitate. His boots struck the wooden planks with precision as he pursued, not as an enforcer, but as a man who had spent years recognizing distress and knowing when to act.

"Turner!" His voice was firm, edged with command but lacking reproach. "William—stop!"

Will had just been fooling around with the others near the docks. He knew not to get in the water, of course. He wasn't a fool; so he played with his friends. They began to dive in around him, into the bay, and he moved to sit nearby by, legs dangling, just enjoying the Caribbean sun and the smell of the salt in the air. If he wouldn't be in the way, he had half a thought of laying back to look at the clouds... before being violently pushed from behind. He heard laughter and boys crowing, and then the water closed over his head. He was already panicking, and had every reason to, but pushed himself to the surface and then swam to shore. He had to catch his breath, and so, unthinkingly, supported himself on his two hands, only to look up and make eye contact with Norrington. He paled, wrapping a hasty arm around his chest, before running, just... running... as fast as he could, away.

@ashortdropandasuddenstop

[ashortdropandasuddenstop]

"James," she is already snickering. "Why can't dinosaurs clap their hands?" she waits, giving him a moment to think of an answer while she giggles. "Because they're extinct."

James blinks at her a moment, then quirks a brow. " Yes, I .. suppose that is true. " Sorry dear, Norringtons lack a sense of humor and rarely laugh at jokes.

[ashortdropandasuddenstop]

//.... Zydrate comes in a little glass vial...

[ashortdropandasuddenstop]

“ Can I help?”

"Probably not. Just who the devil are you, anyway?"

[ashortdropandasuddenstop]

//Since I can't find a sparrow to play with to save my life, I'm tempted to work on a Sparrington fic. Granted, it will take me forever and I don't normally write fics but I'm jonsin' for Sparrington bad, so yeah, that will be my outlet. >/

[ashortdropandasuddenstop]

James exhales sharply through his nose, the Joker’s teasing words sending another shiver down his spine. The warmth of his mouth, the way his teeth graze his skin—it’s intoxicating, and James can’t even bring himself to protest anymore. He tilts his head slightly, exposing more of his throat, the very thing he should never do, but with the Joker, he wants to see what happens when he does.

When the clown deepens the kiss, James meets him eagerly, his hands moving from the Joker’s jacket to his narrow waist, pulling him in flush against his cold, broad frame. The Joker feels so light against him, his body feverishly warm in contrast to James’s own unnatural chill. And when the bite comes—sharp, unexpected—James stiffens, pleasure mingling with pain in a way that makes him exhale something close to a groan.

He doesn’t make a sound beyond that, though, not wanting to give the Joker the satisfaction of hearing him gasp. Instead, he presses back, fingers digging into the Joker’s hips, steadying him as the clown tastes the dark, rich vampire blood blooming against his tongue.

James knows it must taste different—darker, heavier, more decadent than any human’s. He watches the Joker’s expression shift, something almost predatory flashing in those manic eyes, and it sends a thrill through him that he really shouldn’t be feeling.

But then—

The door swings open.

The moment shatters like glass, and James jerks his head up just in time to meet the wide, utterly bewildered eyes of Alfred Pennyworth. "My word!"

For a long, excruciating second, no one moves. No one breathes.

Alfred, holding a tray with what appears to be Bruce Wayne’s evening tea, stands frozen, his impeccable composure momentarily failing him. His gaze flicks between James, who still has a firm grip on the Joker’s waist, and the Joker, whose lips are slightly stained red—not with lipstick, but with something much darker.

James, lips kiss-swollen, his breath still unsteady, tries to summon something—anything—to say. He should push the Joker away, should step back, should at least attempt to salvage some semblance of dignity.

"We must what?" The pleasure he is receiving from this man stammering on his words is just unbelievably satisfying. He can't believe how much this is getting to the man. God, he finds the sight incredibly hot. "I can keep quiet, baby," His red mouth touches his neck. "It's ya' who needs to be quiet," His lips presses onto his neck softly, like the wool fiber accidentally grazing an exposed area of the skin so tenderly.

The clown intends to build strong emotion, and teasing is one of those skills he could use to build tension up.

Once those words has hit his ears, Joker is smiling ear to ear. It's genuinely warm, and moments like theses is conceal from others. They don't get to witness the Joker express any kind of emotion that's warm, although it quickly disappears as brief as it was displayed before James.

"I like being impossible," He trails his teeth over his neck. It's not hard. It's light. "Because i this?" The clown laughs behind his hands again. "You're losing me here, darling?"

He kisses back. He. kisses back with no hesitation. His white hands squeezes fabric between their kissing. "Great kisser," He deepens the kiss, fingers crawling up his shirt, till it reaches the collars it. He pokes his tongue against the seam of his lips, pressing his body into his, leaving no space.

"I just want to tear ya' apart," He bites down on his lower lip, till he tastes a dab of salty blood. "Delicious,"

[ashortdropandasuddenstop]

After guiding the delivery man inside, James couldn’t help but smirk at Harley’s teasing. “You are many things, my dear, but quiet is not among them,” he teased back, voice smooth as silk. He turned his focus to the driver then, his eyes gleaming with predatory intent. His smirk deepening at the kiss she left on his cheek. He turned his attention back to his enthralled guest, eyes gleaming with anticipation .

Taking a seat beside the mesmerized man, James let out a low hum of approval as he tilted the man’s head just so, revealing the inviting pulse of his throat. He sank his fangs in, letting out a contented murmur as warm, rich blood spilled over his tongue. The sensation was intoxicating, the hunger within him finally sated. He drank deeply, but carefully, ensuring the man would wake up—exhausted, lightheaded, but alive. Cradling the man in his arms like a lover, as the driver grew weaker and weaker.

James pulled back with a satisfied sigh, licking a stray drop of crimson from his lips as he met Harley’s gaze, his smirk returning. “You do enjoy watching, don’t you?” he mused, tilting his head at her with an amused gleam in his eyes.

With little effort, James lifted the dazed man into his arms, showing off a bit as he carried him with ease. He stepped into the hall, placing the delivery driver gently against the wall. “Rest up, good sir, and when you wake, you shall remember none of what happened here today.” he murmured before tucking the money for the Pizza into his pocket, and closing the door. Turning back to Harley then, dusting his hands off theatrically. “Now then,” he said, stepping toward her with a slow, predatory grace, “where were we?” looking every bit the content predator that he was.

Did they lock you in here?

@ashortdropandasuddenstop

Harley wasn’t even sure how long it had been. With no windows to the outside world she couldn’t count the hours or days she had been chained to the wall. It must have been night though, because the dark, beautiful voice of her vampire caught her attention.

She looked up at him with a weak smile, dried blood staining her usually lipstick reddened lips. “James.. I knew you’d find me.” Her head fell back against the wall as she chuckled. “I think…” Harley took in a shuddered breath and smiled. “I’d like to see ya drink some people dry.”

[ashortdropandasuddenstop]

James let out a slow breath, the silver keeping him too weak to properly scowl, but the irritation was evident in his voice. “Bloody hell… well, that’s annoying.” He sighed, shaking his head. “I should’ve expected it, but it doesn’t make it any less vexing.” His fingers twitched slightly against the cold chain, more out of habit than anything else. If he could, he’d be raking a hand through his hair in frustration right now. His jaw tightened slightly, but the weight of the silver kept his frustration dulled. “So they did think of everything,” he muttered, wearily.

James watched Harley as she sat back, his dull green eyes tracing the disappointment flickering across her face. He hated seeing it. Hated feeling this helpless, this useless, unable to even offer her comfort beyond words.

Then, just as quickly as her disappointment had come, it vanished—replaced with that signature grin of hers. James arched a brow as she began unzipping her shorts, only for his expression to shift into something resembling amused disbelief. “Harley,” he breathed out, shaking his head as she revealed the safety pins hidden in the waistband of her underwear. He let out a small, genuine chuckle. “I take it back. They didn’t think of everything.”

His amusement was short-lived, however. The moment she moved closer to the lock, he noticed it—the scent of blood in the air thickening, like a hand curling around his throat. James’s body tensed involuntarily, his muscles tightening beneath the silver chain. He didn’t say anything, didn’t want to alarm her, but his jaw clenched.

It was subtle, the way the scent crept into his senses, but he knew it was deliberate. Their captive must be watching. Waiting.

Still, he forced himself to remain still, to focus on Harley, on her triumphant giggle as she worked on the lock. He swallowed against the gnawing hunger creeping in, his voice even as he murmured, “You always do something right, Harley.” He managed a small smirk, but his mind was elsewhere—bracing himself.

Because if the scent of blood was already filling the air, it was only going to get worse.

“   there’s   gotta   be   a   way   out   of   this  !   ” ( have fun being captured with James )

@ashortdropandasuddenstop

Those were the first words Harley heard when she awoke in the tiny room. She looked around, clearing the fog from her mind with each blink. “Wh-what happened? How’d we get here?”

Harley stood on shaky legs and leaned against the wall behind her. She gave him a smile and nodded. “If anybody’s gonna find a way out I’m sure it’s you. James where are we? They didn’t hurt ya did they?” At this point Harley wasn’t even sure who ‘they’ were.

[ashortdropandasuddenstop]

James sighed through his nose, a long-suffering exhale as the Joker basked in his own impossibility like it was some great achievement. “Why shouldn’t you be?” James repeated, lips pressing into a thin line. “Because most people find ‘impossible’ a nuisance, not a virtue.” He gave the clown a sharp look, but it was wasted on him. The Joker wasn’t most people—he reveled in being an enigma, and frankly, James wasn’t sure if that was something to admire or just endure.

James barely reacted as the Joker trailed his fingers along his clothing, his smug little smirk daring him to respond. “Then again, you seem endlessly entertained,” James muttered, watching the way those green eyes roamed his face. The intensity of them, the way they glowed with anticipation, made James wary. The clown wasn’t just looking forward to the shopping trip—he was looking forward to the fight, the back-and-forth, the game of it all.

But the Joker was also perceptive, annoyingly so, and the moment James’s guard slipped at the mention of his father, the clown latched onto it like a dog with a bone. James’s jaw clenched. “Don't really believe that's any of your business,” he said sharply, steering the clown away from the store and onto the street. But Joker was grinning, already peeling away layers James hadn’t meant to expose. James met the Joker’s gaze, unflinching. “You didn’t hit a nerve,” he said coolly, clearly a lie. “But if you did, I’d strongly advise against poking at it.” His voice was even, but there was an unspoken warning beneath it, something firm and final.

Then, the Joker grinned up at him, fingers tugging lightly at his shirt. James scowled at the words, rolling his eyes as he pried the bleached hands off of him. “Break your neck? Tempting, but I’d rather not deal with the mess that would make.”

His grip on the Joker’s arm didn’t loosen as they stepped out into the cool Gotham air, but the Joker’s expression shifted—his voice laced with something sharper, colder. The clown had picked up on the slight crack in his exterior, and he wasn’t going to let it go.

They walked down the sidewalk, the Joker’s sing-song questioning filling the air as James guided them toward their destination. The vampire scoffed at the accusation, shaking his head. “Yes, I kill,” he admitted without hesitation. “But I kill when I need to, not for sport. Not because it’s fun.” His grip on the Joker’s wrist loosened slightly, but his gaze remained firm.

“And I certainly don’t kill men who are just doing their jobs. I don’t kill for the sake of chaos or amusement. I don’t kill because it fills some twisted void inside me. I kill when I’m hungry. That’s the difference.” He turned his head slightly, eyes narrowing as he regarded the Joker. “You wouldn’t understand it, because there’s no rhyme or reason to what you do. But I have rules. And one of those rules is that men who work hard, men who have a duty to fulfill for the good of society, are not my prey.”

Duty. It had been drilled into him since childhood. It was what had defined his life before he’d become what he was. It had been a chain around his neck, a weight on his shoulders—but despite it all, he still believed in it. He had to less he be nothing more than a monster.

His grip on the Joker’s arm tightened again briefly as they moved through the streets. “That man in the store? He has a duty to perform. You don’t shoot men like that,” James said firmly. “If you want to shoot someone, pick someone who deserves it.” He turned his head slightly, glancing at the Joker from the corner of his eye. “I imagine you don’t have much trouble finding those sorts of people in Gotham.”

As they neared Gotham’s most extravagant dress shop, James didn’t slow his pace, his grip on the Joker’s arm firm and unyielding. The bell above the door chimed as he pushed the clown inside, drawing a few startled looks from the shop attendants. The store was filled with delicate fabrics, shimmering gowns, and walls lined with tailored women's suits fit for Gotham’s elite. The contrast between the pristine elegance of the boutique and the wild, chaotic presence of the Joker was almost comical. Almost. James barely gave him a moment to revel in the absurdity before steering him toward a row of mannequins draped in deep reds and royal blues. “Pick something and make it quick,” James muttered, low enough that only the Joker could hear.

The shop’s associates, a group of well-dressed women, hovered near the counters, their eyes wide with barely concealed fear. One clutched a measuring tape to her chest as if it might shield her from whatever chaos the Joker could unleash. None of them dared to approach, their gazes flickering between the grinning madman and the imposing vampire escorting him.

"Why shouldn't i be?" The clown can't get over how much he likes to hear those words come out of James mouth. Being impossible probably isn't a compliment for most people, but the Joker preferred being impossible. He believes it's charming. "Why i always find myself endearing," Sadly the madman isn't lying either. He does consider himself endearing, which isn't the case most of the times.

"Of course it'll be beautiful," Tender smiles graces his mouth between the Joker's touching his clothing. Green irises drifting back to his face when he begin speaking to him once again. He will make sure the both of them will be entertained alright.

The Joker doesn't flinch or move, he just keeps his eyes glued on him when James slightly leans in his personal space. Now, this, now this has the clown blushing again. He won't ever admit but certain people stopping his evil plans, and keeping him from killing someone. God, and especially with authority like this. He adores it secretly.

"Oh! You beautiful man," He grins contentedly, bleached hands yanking at his shirt lightly. "Keep talking like that, and I'll have ya' break my neck,"

"Oh!" His eyes expands because he spots the brief change in James demeanor. "Did i hit a nerve there, hunny?" He. smiles up at him. It's laced with something undeniably cold. The Joker willingly let the other lead him out of the store.

"I thought you were a murderer? " He walks down the sidewalk, heading to Gotham's clothes shop. "Now you care 'bout people I'm confused?"