#bones to do it... * shrugging emoji * y'know? / j i'm joking well mostly (': but them being virtually the same person is really fascinating

[mad-hunts]

both matilda and barton were keenly aware that joker was watching them like a hawk. so, although she was tempted to pull away from him, his daughter decided she had just one more thing to do. matilda very subtly tilted her head in such a way that their 'unwelcome guest' wouldn't be able to tell that she was very quietly whispering to him; and at such an audio that even barton barely heard it, in fact. but the important thing was that he'd caught it for she had told him something in code that meant 'just say the word' in relation to joker. it didn't exactly take a rocket scientist to figure out that there wasn't something quite right with their new comedian friend, barton thought.

and how ironic that was for him to think, because unbeknowst to him, arthur was talking about how weird he was acting with what could potentially be one big thorn in his side: the batman. a sigh came from him as the only thing he could think about right now was that the unruly golden ringlets atop his head were going to get so poofy because of the rain. it only appeared to be getting worse and one way this was illustrated was by how the light teal of the also almost doll-like dress matilda wore was becoming a darker hue of teal, which was kind of bad news for her, as it wasn't a cheap dress. it was made out of satin. but between holding onto barton a little longer to maintain the façade that she was upset, or pulling away early and thus breaking the illusion, she chose the first option.

by this time, barton was fully hugging matilda back and looked down at the ground, trying to just listen to her to see if any of this distress could be genuine or whether it was all an act. he maneuvered a hand up to cradle her head then with a shocking amount of gentleness. barton didn't let his guard down, though, as the image of joker's service animal in the corner of his eye reminded him that he wanted something from them. he didn't know what, but if it wasn't obvious before, then it was now. ❝ hey... you're acting like something seriously bad happened, lovebug. you've got to tell me what's going on, ❞ matilda finally pulled away from barton and she covered up both sides of her face at first, before rubbing her hands down it.

matilda silently listened to joker for a moment. no one's threatened you... well, that was pretty untrue, actually. she had one hell of a shiner around her left eye. ❝ honestly, from my friends leaving me stranded in there and ending up with this from some jackass who wouldn't leave me alone, i guess you could just say that i'm... really glad to be out of there. i mean, i tried to leave as soon as you texted me earlier, but this guy stopped me on the way out. i think he must've been as drunk as a skunk or something because he accused me of stealing from him, which i obviously didn't do, ❞ barton knew that that whole story was probably a lie, but he did know that he wanted to kill whoever hit his daughter; no matter what circumstances they were under.

barton was basically seething with anger when he saw the bruise around matilda's eye. ❝ oh? so, you're telling me someone hit you, in there? what'd he look like? and before you say anything, i just want to talk to him, ❞ that was a lie if matilda had ever heard one. she chuckled in feigned surprise at that, raising both of her eyebrows at once. ❝ oh my god... dad. i took care of it, so you don't need to do anything. in fact, please don't. he can get really scary when he's mad, ❞ matilda directed this comment towards arthur before she finally noticed the small puncture wound on his palm. from there, she forcefully took his hand and she barely looked up at him to say, ❝ it seems like you have a big family. what's that like? is it as chaotic as it sounds, or it is nice? ❞ she offered him a small smile. ❝ eh, well, you know that saying ' packed like a can of sardines? ' it's pretty much like that. mm, the dancers up on stage tonight were good, i'll give them that. ❞

matilda was lying through her teeth about the dancers. but the less that arthur knew, the better. his daughter finally opened up the umbrella that had been loaned to her by barton and gestured towards the other to take it. ❝ your makeup's running, so you can go ahead and borrow this, if you want. as for the drops — sadly, yes. the drug problem here just keeps on getting worse and worse, ❞ barton ever-so-slightly squinted his eyes at joker as if he was trying to read him. he'd let his nails get out of control, that much was for certain, but he had been 'taking a break' from practicing for about a month now... which really only meant he wasn't seeing any patients outside of surgery. and when he did surgery, it was with precautions taken so that his nails wouldn't breach the gloves ( though usually they were shorter and less sharp. ) the thing about gotham metropolitan was that he'd actually worked there quite some years ago, and they did have strict policies about how long your nails could be. but now that he had his own clinic, he could set the hygiene standards for it.

that didn't mean that he wanted it's existence to be known to the public, though, as his main clientele was criminals. forging some documents to make it appear as if he was working at the hospital like he had years ago was his solution to this. and it always helped to have someone on the inside who could quote unquote ' make that official. ' a micro-expression of displeasure seemed to flash across barton's face for just a second as he made prolonged eye contact with him. all the while, matilda wrapped his hand with a roll of bandages she'd taken out of her purse.

the corner of his lips curled as if to say ' i may not even know you that well yet, but i already hate you. '

Joker expects a gruff burst in his ear once his focus settles on Dr. Mathis’ pocket. Matilda dropped something in there. What exactly, Joker can’t tell. Neither can the younger Wayne heir from their family’s defunct terminal. Squinting won’t help, but it does relieve his red-streaked eyes. How tree pollen has managed to swamp the city is beyond him.

Werewolf slips the cigarette from his mouth to cough into his elbow. He resists the urge to paw at his nose. MAC Chromacake pigments dry down matte, but mist already has begun beading on the surface. A pale blue streak trickles from Tragedy’s eye, down his cheek, and into the margins of his scarlet simper. It has no taste.

Blaring horns don’t distract him, though incoming footsteps while his back is partially turned compels Joker to glance over his shoulder. The line remains wrapped around Paradise’s facade and around the corner. Overcast keeps bruising the night sky.

Sokol side-guards Joker on the left. The black wolf-dog’s ghoulish eyes remain locked on the father-daughter duo before them. One of the doctor’s palms bleeds. Joker hones in on it while accounting for both sets of hands. Those hands could never touch a patient. Something isn’t right. A chill rolls the length of Joker’s spine. He rears his chin, tucks the damp cigarette to his lips so he can inhale as it’s dying, then force himself to breathe.

Without moonlight to transform under, the lycan is left to shift from sole to sole; dipping his shoulders and carrying his torso on that subtle current. Each time he blinks, Bruce loses focus. He has more than plentiful clear frames to screenshot and print, but it’s the jostling of the cameras that unnerve him most. 

“Stand your ground and stay in plain sight,” Bruce’s instruction is calm as, ‘MATHIS, MATILDA’ appears alongside the young woman’s perfect face. No place of employment listed, however. She’s in every way proportionate; a living doll. Scars from cosmetic procedures to achieve such a flawless veneer might dent her skin here and there, but Joker isn’t close enough to know for sure. Those low-resolution lenses certainly can't reveal if any cosmetic procedures have taken place. “No one’s threatened you,” his reminder’s gentle enough to soothe one of his little nieces, “No one’s gonna hurt you. Just hold steady.”

A gradual drop of Joker's left hand settles over the bracelet tucked under his cuff. Three quick taps onto the moon-shaped charm with his thumb are followed by three longer taps, then three short taps. Rinse and repeat. Rinse and repeat. Again. The moon symbol lights up once. Joker covers it with his thumb, then allows his damp sleeve to fall back down and resumes smoking. The Chief’s Special carves his hip. Joker rakes his left hand-heel over the revolver’s snout and remains in position. 

“I’ve got three,” Joker speaks in reference to daughters, but scrunches his face and clarifies, “They’re all little, though. My oldest is five,” youngest has yet to be born, “And my son’s a baby.” His chin nudges toward the doors guarded by Dalí’s long lost twin, “How packed is it in there, Ma’am?” Joker asks Matilda, though his voice might be swallowed by the rain’s hiss. “My wife's on her way. We were just waiting on our sitter,” he’s doubtful Gary had evening plans, “She likes the cabaret.” 

“That was smooth,” though Bruce knows his older brother can’t comment aloud, Joker preens in a fashion that opens his chest up enough for the little brother to know he’s gloating. “Nothing about this guy’s behavior is right. Not hers either. I’m gonna look up his medical license and see if he’s really still in practice. It’s against board regulations to have nails like that. Unless Gotham Metropolitan’s nixed its scalpel budget…” Bruce thinks he’s funny. Joker’s stomach knots in a bow. For that, he paws at his eyeballs and rattles the image Bruce is seeing enough to intentionally trigger a migraine or motion sickness on the younger brother's end. “Do you think they retract like that X-Men villain?”

Joker would roll his eyes if only he could. Instead he puffs enough smoke for a veil to float over his eyes. The rain won’t let it last. Droplets thicken and fall like little guillotine blades. They cut past polyester and soak the satin sleeves of Joker’s dress shirt so they cling to his skin. His chest cinches, leading Joker to cough again and expel any smoke that might remain in his chest. Once more he checks both father and daughter’s hands, then winds Sokol’s light blue lead tighter around his own hand. 

“Are they still slinging Drops around like candy in there…?” Joker speaks to Matilda again, though Dr. Mathis hasn’t left his eyeshot, “Last time, we were practically stepping over bodies just to get to the bar.”

“Try to figure out what she does,” Bruce speaks in reference to Matilda, “I don’t have an employer for her…and she’s being just as weird as he is.” Before Joker interrupts him with some canned, ‘You can’t just tail people because they’re weird,’ Bruce stresses, “He practically admitted to killing that cop, then tripped over it once he knew he couldn’t take it back. Worst comes to worst, have Nix give him a shake-down and see what falls out of his pocket.” Joker slackens his jaw, but isn’t certain if his brother’s joking. “Maybe it is Drops.” Certainly wouldn’t be a body.