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WHO: Marco and YOU (also some closed prompts)
WHERE: Little bit of everywhere.
WHEN: September catch-all log
WHAT: Sometimes Marco's a dog, sometimes he's a hoodlum, and sometimes he's at physics lectures. He is a multi-layered human.
WARNINGS:Swearing, possible body horror/grossness, and underage drinking for a start.

The Laugh Factory - September 14 - Closed to the Joker

Despite how he acted, Marco wasn't an idiot. He knows who the Joker is. What the Joker is. He's not headed to the club because he's under any delusion the man won't be insane or try to screw him over. It was a variable that Marco fully accounted for before accepting the invitation because... well, he needed more money.

Yeah, he pulled in a decent amount with his party gigs, and he was setting up the racehorse scam, but that wasn't enough to build an actual company, and unlike Bruce Wayne, nobody was just going to hand Marco a giant wad of resources and tell him to have fun.

He knows what he's doing.

Besides, he likes daquiris! And sure, he can buy them in morph, but there's something about drinking as yourself and not having to actually make the drinks that really hits the spot.

So, to get into the club, he morphs the governor from his timeline. She's old enough. Nobody IDs women with grey hair. Then he sneaks into a closet and demorphs, opening the door as himself, heading to the bar, and plopping himself in a seat.

"Pink umbrella please." He says with a grin.

"Ew" - Animal repellant power shenanigans - Closed to Darkov

Flying is an amazing way to get around. Way better than the bus. Marco could probably buy a car, but he's saving up for some other things first, so most of the time if he wants to get somewhere and it's too far or annoying to walk, he flies. He's even got a sling he's managed to figure out so e can carry things like money and his wallet.

Most of his flights are unremarkable, honestly. He sees a bit too much (more people should wash their hair better), but otherwise, nothing weird happens.

Not today.

Today, Marco is flying over a street that he's flown over 50 times before, but his osprey brain has an almost irrepressible urge to dive bomb the hell out of some guy that's walking down it. Like, the osprey is pissed. It wants to shit on him, dive bomb him, peck at him... it's insane.

And, with his osprey eyes, he can see the tattoo. An imPort.

< Geez, somebody lost the power lottery. What is your deal anyway? >

At the supermarket - Closed to Jamie Reyes

The main problem with this plan, Marco reflects while standing in the narrow aisle of the supermarket and squinting at the spice bags, is that he doesn't speak Spanish. And he definitely doesn't read Spanish.

Sure, he can count to ten, complain about chickens, and crack a couple of jokes, plus catch words here and there, but...

Nope, he doesn't know Spanish.

Which, it turns out, makes it hard to shop at a Mexican supermarket.

He'd checked the regular stores, but they didn't have what he needed! Not here! They would have in California, where people actually knew how to make Mexican food. So far, Marco's only 'Mexican' food here had been, in his opinion, terrible. It was like when he'd been in Mexico as a really little kid and he would've shanked someone for a hamburger and macaroni and cheese, but in reverse.

Need. Food. Badly.

So he picks up one of the little bags and holds it up. Yup. No idea what 'cumino' was.

Marco sighs.

Dogs are happy! Play with them!

Sometimes, Marco just likes to run around as a dog. Dogs are HAPPY, and they have really uncomplicated emotions. Plus, everybody loves dogs. Other dogs like dogs. Humans like dogs (especially well-behaved, clean, friendly dogs). It's just fun to lose himself in the dog's mind, and, although Marco would never admit this, the pets that he gets are his way of filling his need for affection.

So he's running around the Heropa dog park as an Irish Setter, having the time of his life. There's a phone stashed in a hole with a timer on it that he uses to make sure he doesn't go over his time limit, but Marco has over an hour left.

And something very important has just happened!

A dog and their person left, but they forgot their ball! They are very nice, so he tries to return the ball, but they don't pay any attention to him, which makes him sad. Or it would, but now he has a BALL! He doesn't know what color it is, but it's nice and squishy.

Oh oh!

There's a person! Maybe they'll play! Marco bounds up to the person and drops the ball expectantly and then sits, wagging his tail back and forth. Play?

This Lecture is Stupid.

If you'd told Marco a few months ago that he would voluntarily be going to a public physics lecture, he would have called you insane. And to be fair, it was pretty boring. The only reason he's there is because the talk is about what they've discovered due to the presence of imPorts, and that's sort of relevant.

At first, he thinks the amused looks from a few of the attendees are because he's young, but he's definitely not the only kid there. After a while, Marco realizes it's because he's the only one there who's jotting his notes in a good, old fashioned *notebook.* Look, he knows how to use all the future crazy tech, but he doesn't know enough to trust it with anything secure, and typing on the phones is awkward.

He sits there for an hour and a half.

And then. And then.

Then the guy up on the stage goes on at the end about how this is all still a theory and they don't know anything for sure.

What a giant waste of time!

Marco scowls and stomps out with the rest of the crowd and, catching a flash of an imPort tattoo, grumps to them, "Well, that was useless, wasn't it?"

Look, I have standards when it comes to street art.

There's a gang running around. Hooligans. Punks. Which Marco would find hilarious if their graffiti weren't so bad. So, so, so bad. And so, Marco has done what any self-respecting trolling shapeshifter would do: He's bought his own can of spray paint.

It's late, about 10 PM.

Marco, in stereotypical hoodlum style, is dressed in a black hoodie (with the hood drawn up over his head), sneakers and jeans. The only thing that ruins the image is that Marco still can't get used to skinny jeans, so the jeans are... a bit out of date.

He looks at the terrible graffiti and sighs, then uncaps the spray paint and starts painting.

When he's finished, there's a giant red 'F' next to it, along with a teacherly comment to 'see me'.

And then he hears something, and he whips around, spray paint in hand.

"This isn't what it looks like." He objects.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

It feels good to make someone laugh. And to do it without lethal chemicals for once, too! Marco's amusement and suggestions get Joker laughing, too, and ah, yes, this is nice! This is exactly what he needed: a straight-talking henchman with a sense of humor, yes, God.

"Oh, wouldn't it be awful if I could only do that one?" He's still giggling, and a shake of his head does nothing to slow him down on that front. "Or just Benny Hill, Christ. Out-foxing Batman? Yakety Sax. Feeding the hyenas? Yakety Sax. A night in with the missus? Well, that one's already Yakety Sax, actually, but..."

He gives a wave of his hand, chuckling now, then gets to work making Marco another daiquiri.

"And you know, you're right about that, about all of that." He nods as he adds strawberries to the blender. "People say I'm the drama queen, but come on. He lives for that Bat-shaped spotlight, and everybody knows it."

More rum. Lots of rum. He wants this kid good and lit before they get to talking cash.

"But enough about him, hm? You'll meet him soon enough, you keep running around with me..." He slaps the lid on the blender and gets it going. Only then do his eyes cut back to Marco. Over the whir of the blades, Joker asks, "You ever done this kind of work before?"

"True, but there could be worse one-song wonders to be other than Yakety Sax," The tipsy teen replies seriously, "Imagine if all you could do was a 3rd-grader's rendition of 'Hot Cross Buns' on the recorder." He pauses, watching the Joker make another daiquiri, "Actually, no, that'd probably be useful as sonar warfare." Another pause, "Have you considered that? Can you control where the song comes from and how loud it is?" That might actually be useful.

"You can be drama queen and he can be drama king. Or the other way around. But you're 100 percent right. I mean, come on, the Bat-Signal? What, is Batman too good for the phone?" Marco snorts. Like, come on. Plus, shining the Bat Signal just yells 'Batman's coming!' whereas a phone call would allow for the element of surprise to be retained. Silly Batman.

He grins, "I will. And he'll probably tell you off for corrupting children or something." Marco shrugs, then spins on the barstool because he's tipsy and 17 and it seems like a good idea, "No." He's honest, "Not regular crime. Well, I've stolen shit." He amends, "But most of my crimes were war crimes. Buuuut-" He draws out the word, "The law is bullshit. So there's that."

"Only thing is I'm not going to kill or help kill people who aren't already involved." He holds up a hand to indicate he's not done, "I know you'll do it, I'm not your mom or a narc and it's none of my business, I'm just not going to help with that. I mean, I registered with the American government and they kill people. Same difference. They just get to call what they're doing 'legal' and you don't."

Like the Andalites who thought genociding humanity and the Hork Bajir was perfectly legal. Legality was a stupid concept.

'Hot Cross Buns' as sonar warfare actually sounds hilarious; that's a fine idea! Joker would need equipment for it, of course, and he's not at all sure how any of that would work, but ooh, yes, that's definitely one to keep in mind for the future. He chuckles and pours the drink into a fresh glass, adding a new umbrella: a yellow one this time, for friendship, ha.

"Oh, it can get pretty loud," he answers, keeping things vague, as he swaps the old drink for the new. But they're not here to talk about his powers, and with Marco being as entertaining as he is at the moment, Joker's content to simply enjoy the show and wait for the boy to cross from tipsy into full-out drunk. As long as the kid doesn't cause too much of a scene, there's no harm in keeping the booze flowing and watching those mental faculties drop.

He listens to Marco's rules with an expression of total seriousness, one intended to convey, I respect your limits and will absolutely honor them, yessiree, 100%. And in truth, the first main job he's got in mind for him actually isn't a murderous one...at least, not directly. What comes after that, well, they can cross that bridge when they get there.

There's a lot of what the kid's just said that might be interesting to unpack--war crimes, in particular, stands out--but this isn't the time. So when Marco gives him a chance to speak, Joker simply nods sagely and says, "Couldn't agree more. And no killing for you--Scout's honor." He offers the official Boy Scout hand sign to go with the promise.

"No stealing, either. In fact, what I'd really like for you to do," and here he leans in again, offering his most winning smile, "is to simply be me for a few weeks. Let people see you heading into the back room here. Watch a little tv at my place, in front of the window so folks can see you sitting there minding your own business. That sort of thing. Child's play, really..." He cants his head a little, birdlike. "How are you at voices?"

OOooh, a yellow umbrella. Fantastic! Marco takes it out of the daiquiri and holds it over his head like an actual umbrella, then puts it next to his cheek, "How did you know yellow was my color?" And it's true: Marco does look good in yellow. His perception of himself is accurate at least! Marco's going to follow up with more questions about the Joker's power, but then the Joker drops his request.

And luckily, Marco has enough self-control not to laugh in utter glee.

Because the only way to do what the Joker's asking, of course, is to acquire him. So Marco will get to play with his powers all he wants. Also, of course, because it's a terrible idea for the Joker to let Marco acquire him, the same way it was a terrible idea for Peter.

He doesn't laugh, though. Instead, he blows some bubbles in the daiquiri through a straw, both because hey, he's tipsy and bubbles are funny and because it makes him look dumber than he is.

"Oh yeah, I could do that. I'd just have to acquire you." Marco looks at the Joker and takes another drink of the daiquiri, "Oh man, you know what would be an awesome power? The ability to make flavored daiquiris. To turn water into daiquiris. Daiquiri Jesus." Look. He was tipsy bordering on drunk. You had to take the bad with the good, "I'd have your voice, so that wouldn't be a problem. I'd just need to know how you do your makeup." He gestures at the Joker's face, "And a way of letting you know what 'you've' been doing in case people ask."

Since he assumes he's helping establish an alibi.

"Oh. And how to make daiquiris. That's very important. Can't be you unless I know all the daiquiri secrets."

Joker's not hugely keen on the way Marco says that: I'd just have to acquire you. Kid really needs to find a better verb for that... But it's in no way enough to slow him down or put him off his plan, especially since--if he's being honest here--Joker likes the idea of spreading his biological matter as far as is humanly possible. No matter how much of his DNA Marco winds up with, the kid still won't be him. Nobody can be him, not really (though some have certainly tried!). Which brings him to the first of the ground rules he needs to lay down for this.

"No, no. You won't be doing anything." He says this gently, like it's amusing. "Your job is to walk about and look pretty. Maybe a greeting here or there. The occasional brushing-off of hangers-on with a terse, 'I'm busy.' No drink-making, no lollygagging. No climbing up on the stage and showing off your splendor. You come in, you go directly to the back room, you interact as little as possible."

He's used impersonators before, but only in controlled situations, like having someone fill in for him in his prison cell when he himself had better things to do. To actually turn someone loose, Warhol-style, and let them fill in for him on a grander scale? This is new, and despite his enthusiasm for the idea, Joker's not taking any of it lightly.

"And lucky for you," and he gestures to his face with a smug grin, "this isn't make-up. If you can put on lipstick--and look at you, I'm sure you can!--you've got the whole routine down."

Then, more thoughtfully: "Just to clarify: if you do this... You'll look like me as I am now, right? Complete with my... Let's call them 'improvements'? The green hair, and all that?"

Look, Marco didn't come up with the word. Thank the Andalites for that. It's their technology. Marco's just some random human kid that happens to be able to shapeshift thanks to it.

Not doing anything? Works for him. Marco shrugs, "Cool. That's even easier!" He gives the Joker a giant, cheesy grin and a thumbs up. What could he say? He was lazy. Or at least, selectively lazy, and it was beneficial for other people to think he was lazier than he is.

Look at him? Marco gasps in fake offense, "Excuse you, this is all natural gorgeousness, thank you. But yeah, I totally know how to put on makeup. I was on TV a lot." Knowing that the Joker's actively modified his face is interesting though, and being tipsy bordering on drunk means that Marco starts examining the creepy man's face, being unable to decide if that's awesome or disturbing. Wait. It's the Joker. It's both, of course!

"Yup. I'll look like your current self." He affirms, "I can demonstrate if you want."

Because Marco sure as hell wouldn't trust the word of some random kid. Also, look, he sort of wants to morph the Joker now because that just sounds hilarious and fun and the alcohol agrees with that opinion.

On TV a lot, huh? With any luck, that means the kid's got some theatrical ability. And Joker is certainly feeling lucky today, so why not just take it as a given?

He lets Marco stare at him for a moment, during which he makes a quick judgment call about just how tipsy the boy's gotten. Is Marco lit enough to make some questionable life decisions, but not so far gone as to be a nuisance?

All systems are go, he decides. Houston, we are ready for take-off.

"A demonstration?" The chuckle that follows is a little more sinister than he intended it to be, a low one deep in the chest. "Don't mind if I do. Here--hold that thought."

He slips out from behind the bar and comes around to join Marco on the other side. The show's getting ready to start, and the crowd is getting thicker by the minute. It's clearly time for clowns and their guests to am-scray. Fortunately, the six-and-a-half-foot tall Joker has no problem getting people to move out of his way.

"We've got about three minutes before things kick off in here," he explains, gesturing for Marco to follow him. "So let's you and me duck into my office, shall we? You can show me how this acquiring works."

His office is a moderately-sized room at the back of the club, with a name plate on the door reading, simply, THE JOKER. It'll be a comfortable enough place for them to continue this chat... if, of course, Marco's still sober enough to navigate his way through the crowd.

Well, to be fair to the Joker, they are discussing illicit body-doubling for duplicitous purposes. It's inherently a little sinister. Besides, Marco would be concerned if the Joker wasn't freaky at least some of the time. Honestly, at least he knows the Joker is batshit insane.

"Sounds good."

While Marco definitely isn't sober (okay, okay, he's drunk as a skunk), he's also really used to doing very important things in various states of impairment, even if most of his experience is with severe sleep deprivation and pain instead of alcohol. So getting through the crowd isn't an issue, the main issue is that Marco gets sort of distracted by the crowd, including slapping the hand of someone who tries to get too friendly as he works his way through. Unlike the Joker, he slips through gaps in the crowd, knowing there's no way people are going to get out of his way.

When he reaches the door, he knocks, "Honey, I'm hooooome." He announces.

Joker keeps a discreet eye on Marco while the boy's in transit. He wants to see how Marco moves, especially now that there's booze involved. Does the kid have swagger? Is he comfortable taking up space? And, most importantly, can he keep his cool even when he's not at his best?

Even if Marco replicates Joker's physical appearance all the way down to the last green eyelash, if the body language is wrong or he comes across as in any way timid, this'll never work. Batman--even some other world's Batman--will see through it in an instant. And while Joker can teach Marco some of what he'll need to know, there's no teaching charisma and confidence.

On the other hand, shapeshifters do tend to be a screwy lot. And Marco's definitely not having trouble keeping up with him, even if the style's a bit lacking. Yes, there's potential here...

He smirks in approval at the kid's announcement, too. Joker has, in fact, used those very words himself, many a-time. If that's not a good sign, what is?

He lets them into the office, which is pure '70's and has definitely seen better days, and shuts the door behind them. There's a long, harvest-gold sofa along one wood-paneled wall, with a pillow still scrunched up at one end from where he took a catnap earlier in the evening. He tosses the pillow aside, takes a seat, and beckons for Marco to join him. The smell of stale cigarette smoke hangs heavy in the air.

"All right," he says, settling in. "Now--just so we're all copacetic here." He removes a glove as he speaks. "Couple of ground rules! First: no blabbing about this gig, not to anybody. I find out you've breathed a word, you and me have a problem. Second: no touching Miss Quinn. And no being touched by her, either...which, believe me, that'll be your bigger struggle. And finally? Absolutely no engaging with Batman. You see him, you exit stage left. Questions about any of that?"

He's definitely keeping his cool, but there's no swagger or attempts to take up space, because that is not the optimal way to get where he needs to be without attracting attention. Marco is nothing if not a pragmatist (or he wouldn't be meeting the Joker to begin with), and he's not nearly intimidating enough as a 5'3" teenager to get the results the Joker does.

Oh wow. This office was... well... Marco decides to be nice and consider it 'kitsch' and not just 'out of date'. After all, the 70s were long enough ago in 2019 that it's probably seen as retro and not just out of style like it would have been back home. Still, a couch is a couch so Marco takes a seat, perching on the arm sideways so he can keep an eye on the Joker rather than just sitting next to him (plus it hides that his feet wouldn't reach the floor if he sat on it properly).

"Yup, got it!" He agrees with an enthusiastic thumbs up, "See, I have this pesky thing called a survival instinct, so 100% with you on not doing any of those things." Such an instinct extended to saying that he didn't want to be anywhere near Harley since 'crazy' wasn't Marco's type, "And I'm famous back home, so I'm actually used to getting people to not touch me." Weird skill to have come in handy, but the world was a weird place.

Heh. He was going to morph the Joker. This was going to be a trip. Marco can't help but grin. His life was so weird and so cool and so weird.

"Right, so I'mma need a hand or something to touch for a few minutes. You might feel kind of zonky; that's how you know I'm doing it." Sure, the Joker took his glove off, but far be it from Marco to assume anything about what the Joker was going to do.

So far, so good. The kid's doing just fine. And if things should head rapidly south, well, that's why Joker's got a revolver hidden under his jacket, now, isn't it?

"Zonky," he repeats, amused. "The finest of all sensations!"

But there's still one more thing he needs to know before he's willing to let Marco actually touch him.

"One last question now." He's still smiling, but his eyes are trained on Marco's with a predatory focus, watching for any sign of deception or evasiveness. "Once we do this, how long's it last?" He wants to hire Marco regardless of duration--no matter what the guy can do, he'll find a way to make it useful--but he's learned the hard way that it's important not to make assumptions with things like this.

Marco's willing to take more risks than he would at home for a number of reasons. Mostly that he apparently can't die and anything short of that, he could fix. So in a lot of ways, Marco feels like he can act without consequences. Because he knows how the Joker views his 'underlings'. This is mutually beneficial, that's all.

And if he gets caught? Well, then he's a poor, manipulated teenager. Obviously.

"Who doesn't love a good zonk?" Marco agrees in an amiable tone.

"I can morph for up to two hours at a time. If you mean how long will I be able to turn into you, indefinitely." There's no point in lying about it. Marco's open about his abilities on the network (except for the morphing into humans part, and even that he doesn't lie about if someone figures it out or asks directly), so if he does, the Joker could catch the lie.

Just because he's a clown doesn't mean the Joker's stupid. Marco's played the fake stupid game too many times himself to be fooled.

Joker lets the silence hang there for a moment while he studies Marco's face. The kid's telling the truth, he decides. A real straight-shooter, or at least smart enough not to lie when he knows he'll get caught.

Good. And good, too, to know that they won't have to go through this whole pony show every time Marco needs to impersonate him. Joker nods, satisfied, and settles back into the couch. "Perfect. That sounds just grand."

Once he's comfortable, he offers his hand, palm-side up. "Knock yourself out, kid."

Now he just has to hope that nobody walks in and sees him sitting here holding hands with a minor. He doesn't mind being creepy, but he's not that sort of creepy...

His response to being closely examined by the Joker of all people? Is to grin and waggle his eyebrows in a ridiculous way. Look, it's voluntary and there are very few humanoid things that can compare to the horrors that Marco's seen (or otherwise sensed) in his life.

Okay, cool. Marco reaches out and touches the Joker's hand and concentrates. Acquiring things is second-nature by now, so mostly he's keeping an eye on the Joker (and the door) while he does so since odds are the crazy clown is going to have a major case of the zonkies and a.) he's not making any more moves until they wear off and b.) he is absolutely paranoid enough to keep an eye out while the other person in the room is a bit dazed.

Once the Joker is back, he spreads his arms, "Now watch and be amazed."

Most people would get a warning that morphing was disgusting, but it was the Joker. Plus, human to human morphing is the least gross type. Still, Marco's got no control over it. So the first thing that happens is he goes white. Both literally and figuratively, the modifications spreading all over his face in dots. He does have to work to keep his clothes from ripping, but he manages to keep them fitting as he grows taller, and his curly hair straightens out and turns a bright shade of green.

All in all, it's morbidly fascinating.

A minute later, a twin of the Joker is sitting on his sofa, leaning forward and tilting his head to the side, "So what do you think, eh?" The voice is, of course, perfectly the same.

And the thing was, he really, really wanted the Joker's opinion on the whole thing. It was important. 'Tell me I'm fascinating.' He needed to hear it.

Oh, zonky is definitely the word for this sensation.

It's not sloggy like a tranq. Not zingy like a round of electroshock. No, this feeling, this is zonky all the way.

Joker leans deep into the sofa back and lets the Zonk take him for a ride. And what a joy it is, too. He so rarely gets to feel anything he hasn't felt before, to surrender himself to an entirely new sort of trip. He lets it snake through his veins, through his belly, through his eyeballs, and his laughter's all pleasure as the feeling makes its way through him.

"Ooh, that's good," he murmurs, in between laughs. "That's very good..." He's sporting the same simultaneously giddy and mellow smile as a schoolboy staggering off of a spinning tea cup ride, woozy and satisfied and thoroughly tickled.

Then it's over, and what a pity, truly, that they can't do that again.

Obediently, he watches Marco transform, and as the morphing gets going, Joker's eyes light up with genuine wonder. Why, it's like watching himself infect another human being! It's like a fleshy version of a computer virus, with his own traits gradually distorting and overwriting Marco's. Sure, it's kind of gross, but it's also fascinating. It makes him feel powerful. No--it makes him feel immortal.

Is this what having a son would feel like, he wonders?

That look of wonder's still shining in his eyes as Marco takes a seat beside him, and when he hears his own voice--well, his own modified voice--come from this other Joker's lips, he bursts into delighted giggles.

"Oh, darling. Darling, darling..." He scoots closer and leans in, peering into a perfect replica of his own face.

He's never seen himself like this. He's seen impersonators. And, of course, his own beautiful reflection. But to sit beside himself, and to be able to see all the fine little details that are uniquely his... It's extraordinary.

He marvels at himself. The bloodshot capillaries in the eyes. The resilient, defiant nose! And, of course, that stunning showstopper of a smile.

Gently, almost reverently, Joker reaches out to touch the other Joker's cheekbone. He strokes it, just once, just to see how it feels.

"You," he breathes, "are magnificent."

Then he withdraws the hand and shakes his head, unable to fully process how perfect this is. Even Batman couldn't find the flaw in this one!

He laughs again, louder and brighter now, and that light in his eyes is starting to take on a more manic sheen. "Show me more," he urges. "Walk for me. Let me see how you move."

It's fun watching the Joker enjoy his zonks. Marco's only been acquired against his will (and then knocked out) so he's never gotten to actually truly feel the dazed sensation. The Joker, on the other hand, seems to lean into it.

The introspection is gone after he's morphed, however. The wonder on that face - his face. Now that's what it's all about, isn't it? Being recognized for his magnificence. The Marco-Joker visibly preens, throwing his head back in delight at the real Joker's laughter, face stretched in a wide, grotesque grin. He matches the examination with one of his own, because what a delight to have someone who doesn't shy away from the strange beauty of it all.

"I am, aren't I?" Because of course he was magnificent. Humility was for people with regrets. Uncertainties. Certainly not the two of them. Flawless, magnificent peas in a pod.

"But of course!" He responds, leaping to his feet, "Shall I do a catwalk for you?" Marco in the Joker's body sashays down the length of the room and spins, holding out his arms in a 'ta-da!' fashion, "Or perhaps I should get everyone out of my way." And here he mimics how the Joker parted the crowd going back towards the office.

One benefit to being from a timeline where the Joker was fictional is that Marco has a lot of memory reel to play through vis-a-vis acting like the crazy man on the couch.

Joker knows he’s a beautiful man. He’s a Technicolor marvel, a dazzling electric star! Gorgeous and horrifying in equal measure. And it’s never been more apparent to him than it is now, as he hoots with laughter and basks in the pleasure of watching himself prance about. For a moment, he forgets that it’s really Marco he’s watching. He’s having what feels like a full out-of-body experience, sitting outside of himself yet watching himself, and he’s absolutely riveted.

“Perfect! Outstanding!” He’s not talking about Marco’s performance now; he’s talking about himself. He wolf-whistles, then dissolves back into laughter. Good lord, he thinks. No wonder Harley’s so obsessed with him. He’s gorgeous…

Then he remembers that no, no—that’s the kid he’s looking at. A kid who’s getting dangerously close to trying to outshine the original.

The laughter dies down as Joker puts his glove back on and pushes himself up from the sofa. Some wild part of him itches to pull a knife and see how well that goes: All part of the demonstration, kid--how well can you dance? But no. This is what he wanted, he reminds himself. He needs Marco to be good at this, if he’s going to have a prayer of it actually working. You can slap some makeup and hair dye on any goon and stick them in a prison cell to impersonate you. But if you want someone to actually pass as a replica of you out on the street, why, they’d better be good.

He’s still in control. This was all his idea. No need to go slicing and dicing… at least, not yet.

“That’ll do.” He can’t make himself look away from this other Joker, and the look in his eyes is turning sharper and hungrier and meaner by the second. But his smile’s still bright and strong. This is fine, it’s just fine…

Out comes a neatly-clipped wad of bills. Joker counts off a generous stack of them and offers the cash to Marco. “You start tomorrow night. Seven o’clock.” It’s a weeknight. An easy test. “You walk in as me. You tell the bar you don’t want to be disturbed. You come back to this office, you lock the door, and you stay put. Play games, watch porn, do whatever you like. Little after midnight, you put this look on again and you walk right back out. Manage that without a problem, and we’ll make this a regular thing.”

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