Post by Yvette on Aug 10, 2010 23:24:21 GMT -5
THE JOKER
clown prince of crime
so i drew a new face and i laughed
And won't you think I'm pretty[/size]
name;; Just call him Joker.
nickname;; Harley feels the need to call me "Puddin'" or "Mistah J", Batsy calls me "insane". I goes by anything I feel like. Clown Prince of Crime, Harlequin of Hate...
age;; 31
date of birth;; Unknown. But ask me, and you shall receive. April 1
gender;; Male
occupation;; Criminal, Homicidal Comedian
sexualorienation;; I like the girls, thank you.
When I'm standing top the bright lit city[/size]
hair;; Gorgeous Green, glamorous green, get-these-chemicals-outta-my-body green
eyes;; Green
height;; 6’5"
weight;;164lbs
build;;
Handsome.
Oh, wait, what? You want more information? Tall and skinny, yet not a twig like Straw-man Crane. My face always had good cheekbones. Only now they just work to emphasize this fantastic grin of mine, hmm? I’ve got muscle, sure. But nothing like that terrifying spandex shows off on the flying ratsy
piercings;; None
tattoos;; None
style;;
How can anyone top my signature look? Really. Orange? Green? Purple? It’s like a masterpiece. A big, suit-y, brightly coloured masterpiece. I’ll gel this hair of mine and it’s a mess by the end of the murder. What can I say? It’s a price to pay for this job.
I tend to stick with those colours. Purple and green more than the orange, but nonetheless, keep that in mind when Christmas shopping for me, ‘kay, pal? And my suit. I like my suit. Purple pants and blazer, bright orange shirt, green tie… Man. Henchguy ‘a mine once said the outfit was so bright it was one of my methods of attack. Oh, he was a hoot. We had a laugh and a half before I ‘nixed him. Got that poor suit all bloody… Of course, that’s a given with this profession! I can afford more. Actually, wherever I steal from can afford more. Same thing though, right?
And I'll take your hand and pick you up[/size]
favorites;;
-The “best medicine”
-The Batman
-Plotting against the Batman
-Grilled Cheese. Who doesn’t love grilled cheese?
-Making people smile. One way or another.
-That wonderful venom ‘o mine
-Convincing the other crazies at Arkham that they’re a head of cabbage. I mean really, is there a better way to pass the time? I had that poor guy sitting there for hours. It was a riot. No, seriously.
-Harley
hates;;
-Harley
-The Batman
-Being upstaged
-Naysayers. Say your nays elsewhere, would you? There’s fun to be had.
-The way your hand hurts after hitting someone in the face
strengths;;
My good looks, of course. My sense of humor. Intelligence. Inventive (do YOU have a flower that shoots acid? Do YOU have pies to literally die for? Hmm-hmm. Thought not, thank you very much). My Joker Toxin proves pretty useful. I get done what I put my mind to. If it doesn’t wander.
weaknesses;;
I get bored. I get annoyed. I tend to get sent to this place called “Arkham Asylum”… The doctors there say I’m a tad… What was the word they used? Crazy. I try to look on the bright side of things. Or make a bright side. Occasionally it’s a violent, bright side, but whatever it takes, right?
quirks/habits;;
I clench my jaw. A lot. Whether it’s in a big smile or a glare or in my sleep, I clench my finely-chiseled, white jaw. I snap at people when I’m working on plotting; that seems to be when my patience is lowest. I fidget. I tend to joke when I shouldn’t, who’da thunk? I put peanut butter on my waffles. That’s a quirk, right?
goals/dreams;;
-Get a laugh outta the Bat
-Get my face on Mount Rushmore—who doesn’t want that?! Seriously?!
-House-train Harley
-I once had a dream where I was a cactus filled with orange juice, does that count for dreams?
-Spread the funny.
overall personality;;
I'm a funny guy. What can I say? Granted, I have a FANTASTIC sense of humor, but it's just a tad out of the norm. How did that song go? "I'm the kinda guy who laughs at a funeral"? I love my job.
I can switch moods pretty easily. My over-exaggurated grin can just as quickly snap down, and I can just as easily snap. All it takes is one pester from Harley, or one perfect plan gone poorly postponed, or the Bats. Well, sometimes the Bats... I can usualy get a grin or two at the sight of him. It just means there's more fun to come.
Did I mention that yet?
I suppose I'm a bit of a masochist.
How many times should I have died? Really? It's wonderful. That big, bad Bats coming to beat you up, knowing it'll never kill you? I can put up with some pain for that kind of fun. The Clown and the BatRat. Do I sense a children's story, or what?
I love laughing. If you couldn't tell. I'm a bit of a joker. I crack my own special brand of jokes. Often at inappropriate times. I can be a bit childish with my sense of humor, laughing at things like, pfft, The Flash (Honestly, what kind of name is that??) and bodily noises.
And keep you there so you can see[/size]
father;; Don't know, don't care. He's given me one fine face, though, if I do say so myself. I'll just make up my own family. James Bond {Spy;young enough to be internationally aweosme, old enough to get the girl}
mother;; Maid Marian {Merry woman;old enough to be my "mother".}
siblings;; The Fonz {Cool guy;cool age}
relatives;; None
pets;; Harley Quinn {leech/human/squeaker hybrid;28}
hometown;; Narnia. I keep looking for it in wardrobes, but I can never seem to get back home. Maybe if I click my heels three times?
currentlyliving;; The Ha-Hacienda, in Gotham
history;;
The Joker was born to two loving parents, Mr. James Bond and Ms. Maid Marian. My older brother, the Fonz, had already created a wonderful career, and could not even spare his poor brother so much as an, “’Eyyy! Joke-ster!”. This was the beginning of a terrible childhood, ladies and gentlemen.
Shortly after his son's birth, Mr. Bond realized that a child was not a good idea in the spying line of profession, and so he gave me up.
I miss good old daddy.
He used to let me play with the guns.
Anywhoo, my mother, Marian, raised me until I was ten. Then she met some guy from The Hood, Nottingham, and went off with him. This was the first Robin to make my life miserable. Although I partially commend his career choice, stealing. Though what kind of idiot gives up the money?!
I went off with my brother, and discovered the wonders of hair gel.
Haven’t you always wondered why my hair looks so amazing?
The green was my idea, though.
I lied.
It was the chemical’s idea.
This is where things start getting interesting, kiddos: I’ve fallen into acid. Ker-splat. That’s what gives my skin it’s natural, healthy glow and my lips their sensual, seductive red hue. Keeps my hair green, too. It’s like I’ll never have to go to the hairstylist’s again. Dye job for life!
So after my swim, I discovered something. An epiphany, I suppose.
I really don’t like bats.
Since then, The Batman has kept me doing the psychopath two-step, and I’m loving each minute of it.
Oh. I suppose I need to add Harley into my history? Yeah. She’s this girl I met at Arkham. Harleen Quinzel. She was assigned to me. To this day, I won’t tell her how, exactly, I got that flower into her office… Anyway, this chick totally fell in love with me! It was horridly mushy, like the brains of a cracked skull.
….That’s fun to poke with a stick, though….
I renamed her Harley Quinn, gave her some spandex, and ta-daa.
Batsy’s not the only one with spandex support.
As long as you're alive and care[/size]
name;; Yvette
age;;16
experience;; I'm not sure... Fiiiiive years...? e_e
activity;; Well, hopefully everyday until school starts. Then, hopefully, maybe... Once an evening if I'm lucky? Depends on if I go for a play or not.
whyyoujoined;; Saw this advertised on neo. I was going to do Scarecrow or Hush, saw there was Harley, and was convinced into Joke-ster. xD
phrase;;The Joker finds it hilarious that pluto is out for revenge.
example;;
He pouted.
Well. It wasn’t the prettiest cell.
It could do with some cleaning up…
“Some curtains,” he mused aloud to himself (after all, it was considered normal to talk to yourself in here).
Joker held up his hands and pulled them apart, as though fabric were draped over them and he was examining it. His eyes scrutinized the nonexistent curtains and he shook his head, “No, this will never do.”
Never mind the fact that there wasn’t even a window. Stale air wafted through the room with what little current there was, because the cell was cold with overused air conditioning; one of those places where the heat only worked during the summer, and the air conditioner only worked in the winter. His cot was an old filthy thing, too. He’d need a nice Martha Stewart bed linen set, wouldn’t he?
Oh, that Martha.
She knew how to spruce up an Asylum.
With an audible scoff, the clown tossed away his mind’s creation. He just hated argyle. And blue wasn’t his color. Joker laid down on the floor, certain but uncaring that he was getting his uniform filthy. He ruffled his hand around under the bed. Where was that purple striped number he’d collected awhile ago?
There it was. With a victorious smirk he pulled out nothing. Joker turned it over in his hands, contemplating. He held it up against the wall, tucking the false fabric around the false window. He managed to get it poked into a crack, and gingerly he let go. It hung for a moment. Stroking his chin as though there were a beard there, he grinned.
It was beautiful.
But, as gravity tends to do, it quickly fell down. He glared at it before spinning on his heel and planting his face against the glass of his cell.
“Oou! Arg! Ing if I orrowh our in? Id mak a loffly urtain,” He said, his face contorted by the flat glass.
You! Guard! Mind if I borrow your skin? It’d make a lovely curtain.
Well. It wasn’t the prettiest cell.
It could do with some cleaning up…
“Some curtains,” he mused aloud to himself (after all, it was considered normal to talk to yourself in here).
Joker held up his hands and pulled them apart, as though fabric were draped over them and he was examining it. His eyes scrutinized the nonexistent curtains and he shook his head, “No, this will never do.”
Never mind the fact that there wasn’t even a window. Stale air wafted through the room with what little current there was, because the cell was cold with overused air conditioning; one of those places where the heat only worked during the summer, and the air conditioner only worked in the winter. His cot was an old filthy thing, too. He’d need a nice Martha Stewart bed linen set, wouldn’t he?
Oh, that Martha.
She knew how to spruce up an Asylum.
With an audible scoff, the clown tossed away his mind’s creation. He just hated argyle. And blue wasn’t his color. Joker laid down on the floor, certain but uncaring that he was getting his uniform filthy. He ruffled his hand around under the bed. Where was that purple striped number he’d collected awhile ago?
There it was. With a victorious smirk he pulled out nothing. Joker turned it over in his hands, contemplating. He held it up against the wall, tucking the false fabric around the false window. He managed to get it poked into a crack, and gingerly he let go. It hung for a moment. Stroking his chin as though there were a beard there, he grinned.
It was beautiful.
But, as gravity tends to do, it quickly fell down. He glared at it before spinning on his heel and planting his face against the glass of his cell.
“Oou! Arg! Ing if I orrowh our in? Id mak a loffly urtain,” He said, his face contorted by the flat glass.
You! Guard! Mind if I borrow your skin? It’d make a lovely curtain.
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