maskormenacelogs | just a jackknife has old macheath, babe

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just a jackknife has old macheath, babe | closed

WHO: Carol Danvers and the Joker
WHERE: A tea shop in De Chima
WHEN: Friday, January 3rd. Late afternoon.
WHAT: A wayward clown visits his probation officer
WARNINGS: Standard Joker warnings: language, clowns, possible violence and/or manipulation attempts, etc.

The Joker has learned to recognize the sound of her footsteps, though he never knows when or where he'll hear them. One of the joys of his post-Christmas life is that Carol Danvers, probation officer extraordinaire, might pop up at any moment to check on him, like some absurdly attractive combination of Batman and Whack-A-Mole. There's never any warning when she decides to do a surprise check. Just those footsteps, and the muted twitch of pleasure they always stir in his belly.

He poisoned two cities. Unleashed a terrible virus of his own creation. Caused mayhem and terror! And in return for his trouble, he's been given daily contact with a showstopping blonde. Life truly is beautiful sometimes.

Today, he's arranged to do one of their regular check-ins over tea, mostly because he wants to see how Carol looks handling delicate bone china. Ten minutes before they're scheduled to meet, Joker is already settled in at a lace-smothered table in the back of an overly cutesy tea shop, and he's already placed an order for both of them. By the time he hears her footsteps on the wooden floor, a full tea spread is ready and waiting for her, including a three-tiered tray of savories and sweets that contains far too much for two people.

He rises from his chair, playing the gentleman, and offers a warm smile that suggests there's no one in the world he could possibly be more pleased to see.

"Ms. Danvers. You look absolutely enchanting." He moves to help her out of her coat. "I hope you don't mind that I took the liberty of ordering for us. Just hated to think of you waiting."

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Joker deliberately raises both brows, amused: Is that a fact?

He imagines she means her words to sound intimidating, like a warning shot fired across his bow. He imagines, too, that she thinks her hand is closed into a fist right now because that's the way she prefers it. She's all violence and naiveté, isn't she? As if brute force alone might be enough to protect her from someone like him.

His smile widens.

"Well, now, that is tempting." He sips his tea, never taking his eyes off of her. "But let's be precise, shall we? Strict in what way?"

Gross. Carol rolls her eyes.

"Calling in the authorities. You being a masochist about it isn't going to make me give you what you want."

As much as she would love to punch that smug grin off his stupid pale face. But she's been given this position of responsibility, and she intends to take it seriously.

He lets that one just hang there between them for a moment. Masochist, okay. That's one word for it.

Then, politely: "Well, yes, of course you could call someone." He breaks eye contact and sets down his teacup, then selects one of his sandwiches. "Tell them I've broken the terms, and you'll probably get my parole extended. Buy us a few more weeks of these chats."

His gaze flicks back to her, his expression utterly self-satisfied. "I mean, if that's really what you want."

Fuck this shit.

Carol picks up the tea pot, pouring herself a cup and dropping some sugars into it, stirring. It gives her an excuse not to have to look at Joker's wretched face for a minute.

"You want me to say I'd take a more hands on approach to your discipline. But something tells me even if I did kick the shit out of you, you wouldn't wind up rehabilitated."

She pours in some milk and stirs that, then finally looks up at Joker again. "So, we'll need to think of a third way to get you to behave."

Pleased that she's finally giving in to the tea, Joker watches her fix herself a cup, memorizing exactly how she does it. Next time, he'll be able to offer it to her just the way she likes it.

"You know, I think I may have misjudged you." He's certain he hasn't, actually, but his voice and eyes seem perfectly sincere. His brows draw together slightly: not quite apologetic, but close. "You see, I'm just so used to violent remediation." He averts his eyes. Shakes his head. "Batman. The police. Asylum wardens... I saw you close your fist on the table there, and I... Well, I guess I assumed you were the same as all the rest."

Slowly, carefully, he allows himself to look at her again. He looks like he's studying her, perhaps even truly seeing her for the first time. "But you're not, are you?"

He reads as sincere enough, and Carol, god damn her, falls for it. She wants to believe he can change, just like she wants to believe Loki can change. Like she wanted to believe the Kree could change.

"I can be." Is her simple reply. "I resort to violence probably more than I should. But I'm trying to change that. And if I can get you to try to change too, then, well..." She sips her tea, shrugging as she puts the teacup back down on the table. "That's what we're here for."

He nods slowly, popping the last bit of his sandwich in his mouth and chewing thoughtfully while she speaks. He appears to be weighing what she's saying, trying to judge for himself whether or not he can trust her.

"You actually think there's hope for me," he says at last, his tone sounding almost stunned. He's keeping his eyes downcast, and his brows remain slightly furrowed, like he's at a loss as to what to make of that. "Nobody thinks that. Hell, even Harley doesn't really think that..."

Then, more quietly: "If we try this, everyone will say I'm just tricking you. They'll call you a fool for not beating me senseless the first time you saw me. You know that, right?"

Edited 2020-01-18 20:53 (UTC)

"I have to think that," is her answer. "I have to think there's hope for everyone, or else what are we doing here?"

She's faced people stuck in their reckless and wrong ways before. They wouldn't listen to her, they refused to change. She really hope that won't be the case with the Joker.

When his voice goes quiet, she leans in on her forearms, eyes looking directly into his. "I stopped caring what other people think of me a long time ago."

This is even easier than he'd expected. She's just eating it up, isn't she? Christ, these goody-good women! They're all the same.

But he can't allow himself to become complacent with her. That's when he'll slip, when he'll make a mistake and she'll figure out she's being had. So Joker keeps himself fully immersed in his ruse, letting a surface level part of himself be duped by his own con so that he can, hopefully, continue to dupe her. This is one of the great secrets to his success as a liar: he allows himself to believe his own bullshit, at least temporarily.

So when he meets her eyes now, his own look uncharacteristically vulnerable, because for a moment, part of him actually is. He looks at Carol like she's the first person in years who's really seen him, who's bothered to look beyond the clown get-up and the criminal record and extend any compassion whatsoever to the man trapped underneath it all.

"You know... I think I almost believe you."

He licks his lips and averts his eyes again. He deliberately summons the feelings he used to have when he was a much younger man, that sense of shyness, almost awkwardness, in the presence of a beautiful woman. With Carol sitting there, gorgeous and leaning toward him and looking so certain of herself, it's not difficult to do. Joker's shoulders drop slightly: he looks flustered, uncertain. Like he wants to ask her to prom but has no idea how to go about it.

"But I... Well, I'm not much good at trying to be good," he explains, and he's fiddling with his teacup now in order to display his (thoroughly fictional) nerves. "Never really bothered with it before. Never saw the point. And if we try this... I mean, I'll almost certainly get it wrong. Repeatedly. Might lash out at you for trying to help me through it, too—I don't know."

Carol's eyes narrow ever so slightly. Something about this seems... off. The Joker is cooperating too well, showing too much vulnerability. Like a wilting flower. This isn't the maniac who poisoned two whole cities. Carol knows she's good, but she's not that good.

"I need you to take this seriously, Joker." As much of an oxymoron as that sentence is. "I'm not going to waste my time on someone who's only pretending to be sorry."

She does still believe he has the capacity for change, but this much change this soon is ringing alarm bells in her head.

His smile reappears, sly and sharp, and when he speaks, his tone matches it. "Had to check."

He leans forward, mirroring her pose and looking her dead in the eyes, and all that shyness and hesitation has vanished so completely that it might never have been there at all.

"You're a clever little bumblebee, aren't you, Carol? Nobody's gonna pull one over on you, no sirree." He chuckles, never breaking eye contact. He wonders when the last time was that she was properly kissed. A long time ago, he guesses. He wonders what she's like in the sack. "You're far too smart for that."

"I've been duped before," is all the explanation she gives. "And I'm not interested in repeating the performance."

She sips her tea, returning the eye contact, not breaking, not wavering. When she's done, she places the tea cup back down on the table, which is when she finally looks down, confident enough that she doesn't need to play Joker's little staring contest game.

"If this is going to work, we need to be on the same level. Tell me honestly, do you have any intention of rehabilitating?"

That catches his interest. Who managed to dupe her? And dupe her with what?

Moreover, why is she telling him this? Hero types so rarely admit to having been had. So why would she? She could have just sat there smugly and agreed with him. Instead, she chose to show him a tiny bit of weakness. Why?

To make him underestimate her, perhaps. Though the steadiness with which she meets his gaze suggests that that's not the game she's playing here. And he can't quite allow himself to believe that she might be trying to forge any sort of actual connection with him. Which leaves her motivations a mystery. Fascinating.

Equally of interest: the way her phrasing suggests that there is a chance that this—her and him, the probation, this whole ridiculous circus—actually might work. If this is going to work, after all, means that she thinks that's a possibility.

The last person who honestly thought that about him was Dr. Quinzel.

"You're putting me in a tricky spot," he muses, leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingertips. "You see, if I say yes, you'll think me disingenuous. And if I say no, you'll write me off as hopeless. Like I said: you're very clever."

Carol's pretty new at this whole superhero thing. Sure, she was in Starforce for six years, but she was never the best at caring about keeping things close to the chest even then. And now that she's on her own, there aren't really any set protocols with how to deal with villainous types. Maybe that'll come later, on her world. Maybe the Avengers have a do's and don'ts list. An FAQ.

Whatever. Her way hasn't fucked things up yet.

"If you say yes and mean it, then I'll believe you." She isn't a hundred percent sure she'll be able to tell whether the Joker actually means what he says, but she has to have faith in her ability to try.

"Would you? Hm."

Joker considers this. His steepled fingertips drum against one another: he wants her to see him considering it. He wants her to know he's not simply blurting out the first thing that springs to mind.

After a long moment, he lowers his hands to the table and mentally instructs them to stay still. He has yet to take his eyes off of Carol.

"The truth is, I haven't the slightest idea what that word even means. Well... In this context, at any rate. That's the first thing you learn in the loony bin, you know: everyone defines 'rehabilitated' differently. What'll have one doctor singing your praises to the parole board will turn another downright hostile! It's all very personal."

His fingers have begun tapping again, he notices, this time against the tablecloth. He makes them stop.

"So. Are you asking me if I want you to teach me how to be a full-out good citizen? One who helps out old ladies, volunteers at the soup kitchen? Pays taxes on legitimate income, perhaps?" One brow quirks up, semi-teasing. "Or would you be satisfied if we just cut back a bit on the killing?"

God, he's irritating. Carol briefly amuses herself by thinking of how little someone like Fury would put up with Joker's bullshit. Even Maria would give him what's for. Let it not be said that Carol has an abundance of patience, but hey... she's trying.

"You don't have to be a model citizen. Not killing people would be a start. No poisoning food and water, even if it doesn't kill people... No loopholes."

He, meanwhile, is still fully intrigued by her. He keeps waiting for her to snap, to roll her eyes and shove her chair back and tell him he can be someone else's problem because she's done. But instead, she keeps holding her ground and finding interesting things to say.

Not what he expected. Not at all.

And again, he wonders: Who tricked you, Blondie?

He offers a theatrical gasp. "No loopholes! But I live for those!" He chuckles and shakes his head: playing, just playing.

"All right, listen. How about this?" He squares his shoulders and drops the teasing routine altogether. "Clearly none of my hobbies or habits are gonna cut it with you. And I'd rather throw myself in front of a polar bear than be Batman's idea of sane, so. Why don't you show me how you live? Let me learn a few new tricks from you. See if your kind of lucid might be more bearable than the kinds I've seen before. And in exchange, well... I'll try very hard to keep an open mind. That sound fair enough to you?"

"I'm sure you do." Joker reminds her a lot of Loki, only with a sense of humor. She's not sure whether that's a good or a bad addition.

She makes a mental note to talk to Batman. Not only to apologize for losing her control and fighting him, thinking he was Yon-Rogg, but to get his take on Joker. If this is going to work, she needs to know more about what she's getting into. She trusts Batman more than any of Joker's other known associates on this Earth.

"You want to... what, shadow me? See what a day in the life of Carol Danvers is like?"

It's not a bad idea. Try to show Joker some normalcy, get him used to living without hurting others. She grabs a finger sandwich and takes a bite, considering as she chews.

"I probably can't swing bringing you on base, but we can work something out for one of my days off." She has a feeling her Air Force commanding officers wouldn't be so keen on having the Joker around.

It takes all of his self-control to keep himself from flashing a predatory smile.

A day in the life of Carol Danvers, oh, yes: that's exactly what he wants. A more intimate, dangerous version of Take Your Clown To Work Day. He wants to spend the whole day with her, observing her, learning her. He wants to see all the little pieces of herself she'll give away without meaning to just by going about her daily routine.

He's watching her again, his expression calm and unusually businesslike. She's already taught him that she won't be taken in by anything over-the-top. If he wants her to play his game, he'll have to underplay every hand. It's a fun challenge. And what a prize on the line to win, too! He doesn't even mind that she won't be trotting him around the base like a show pony; he'll have better access to her, and she'll be more relaxed, if they're out and about on their own.

"Something normal," he requests. "Your idea of a standard-issue Saturday, perhaps." He allows himself a half-smile instead, a subtle one. Polite. "Pick up the dry-cleaning. Take Buster to the vet for his shots. Make a quiche. Whatever it is you'd be doing."

Carol snorts a laugh. "I won't be making any quiches." But the concept's not a bad one. She could try to show Joker how to just exist as a normal person, going through a day without manipulating or hurting anyone.

She might bore him to tears, but she'll try her best to set a good example.

"Alright. We can do that. Meet me at the Heropa Porter complex next Saturday at seven. Wear something you can jog in." She usually starts her days much earlier than seven, but she'll make an exception for Joker.

It feels good to make her laugh, and even better to already be learning things about her: Carol Danvers does not make quiches. Too fancy for her tastes, perhaps? Or maybe she's just not domestically-inclined whatsoever. A woman with an appreciation for takeout! Either way, it goes in his mental file for her.

The faster he can learn her, the faster he can manipulate her. And the faster he can manipulate her, the faster he can get back to his normally-scheduled program of late nights and exuberant crime.

His nose crinkles slightly at the thought of jogging. God knows he needs the cardio, but he prefers his runs to be of the manic sprint variety. He'll never be able to keep up with Miss Military here if she decides to really cut loose, and he can't imagine she'll find him very charming if he's taking his own sweet time and puffing on a cigarette two blocks behind her.

Fortunately, the day she's suggested offers him an excellent excuse. Joker puts on a frown. "Well, I'd love that, but... The swear-in's that weekend. I thought I might go, for once." To gloat over his recent successes. To flaunt the fact that he did what he did and got off with so little actual punishment. "Just to show everyone that I'm ready to be part of the community."

He lets a little anxiety show in his eyes: he really doesn't want to miss the chance to spend a day with her, and there's no reason to hide that from her. "Could we do it the weekend after?" When, hopefully, she'll want to do something where he can actually keep up with her.

Carol can actually cook, just nothing so delicate as a quiche. You should taste her jambalaya. And hey, maybe he will get the chance to, if this plan goes well enough.

"That's a good idea. So long as you don't try anything off color," she says with a warning. "I'm sure the news will get back to me pretty quickly if you do." She isn't always a fan of crowds, so she stays away from most Swear Ins, but this once she might attend, just to keep an eye on things.

"We can do the weekend after. But you still have to jog. There's no ducking out of that part of the deal."

At her warning, Joker holds up both hands in a don't-shoot-I-surrender gesture. "I'll be good. Clown's honor." (And he really will be, too... Right up until the moment that a vampire Batman tries to eat him.) He knows that Carol, as his probation officer, has the right to shut down any and all travel plans. He also knows that she's right: anything he says or does probably will get back to her. He has no intention of breaking her fledgling trust in him over something as silly as a swear-in; he intends to save that for something really worthwhile. Some jokes, after all, only work once.

Damn shame about the jogging, though. If he didn't know better, he'd almost think she was insisting on it just to punish him, a bit of low-key quid pro quo: I offer companionship to you, you offer your physical suffering to me. But maybe he's just projecting.

He focuses on the good news: he gets to go to the swear-in, and he gets a day with her, too. If the price of all of that is a bit of running around in neon-colored jogging wear, so be it. She's worth it.

"I knew it," he says with a chuckle. "You are a sadist at heart! But all right, all right. For you and only you, I'll find a way to manage." His eyes and smile are bright now, almost warm. She's charming him, and it shows.

"Now, forgive me, dearest, but I've got to run. Auditioning a new act at five, and I need to set up the booby traps first." Another chuckle—there are no booby traps—as he pushes his chair back and rises to his feet. He'll square the bill for their meal at the front on his way out. "But you take your time with the scones." Then, as an afterthought: "Shall I call you from the swear-in, by the way? Assure you I'm behaving myself, ask about your day, all of that?"

When Joker stands, Carol stands too, not wanting to be on a different level from him. "Fine. Yeah. Call me to check in. And I'll get in touch with you about next weekend."

She grabs a scone to go and follows him to the front of the tea room.

"I think this can work, if we're both honest with each other." Not that Carol's not going to do some digging of her own to learn a little more about what Joker's history is like. Just consider it research.

In general, Joker dislikes it when people try to keep tabs on him, perhaps because so many have. He's spent too many years in prisons and asylums; he's been the squeakiest cog in too many machines. If you'd asked him two months ago if he might ever enjoy the thought of making nightly phone calls to "check in" with a probation officer, he'd have laughed himself right out of his wingtips.

But the idea of calling Carol every night? Of picking up the phone and knowing she'll be on the other end, with none of the neediness he might expect from Harley, and none of the hostility he might expect from most of his other associates? That suddenly seems oddly appealing, like a little bright spot to look forward to at the end of each day. He finds himself feeling strangely grateful that she said yes.

"I'm never been all that good at honesty," he admits, honestly. It's not as if that's a secret; there's no reason not to tell her. "But we'll go slowly, hm? Ease me into it. Two truths for every lie, perhaps." He gives her a wink, just to show he's teasing, then pulls out his wallet, counts off a few bills, and settles their ticket.

"And who knows? After a couple months of chatting with you, maybe I'll change my tune." He turns back to her as he tucks his wallet back into his pocket, wanting to see her face once more before she leaves. "Or maybe not! Could go either way." Though the look in his eyes suggests he might actually try, with her. At least for a little while. "Regardless... I appreciate that you're willing to give me a shot."

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just a jackknife has old macheath, babe | closed

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