Scar Stories Round Robin
Aug. 13th, 2009 05:34 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tinhuvielartanisOver on Facebook....If ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
gunslingaaahhh and dandyxrandy want to add theirs here as well, that'd be wunderbar!
Inspired by Jilldo Rosenburg's gift of lifting spirits.
*ahem*
::whispers::... You wanna know how I got these scars? C'mere... ::grabs YOU and has Cupid in your mouth before you know it::
When I was a - ah - callow youth, I had a friend ::rolls eyes and smiles sidewise:: who decided my friendship just wasn't enough anymore. So this friend of mine decided to.... to seek the company of others to....stir the pot a little. I wasn't too happy about this new arrangement. I felt a little...out of my depth. So I began to slowly back away from the situation, to maybe find my own way in the world.
And I did! I actually began to do much better without my lit-tle friend, who I found had been dragging me down. When he saw how much better I was doing than he, my friend decided it was time to bring me back down to his level.
So he and his newfound buddies cornered me in a bleaker area of the Narrows...if that's even possible...and my friend said, "J, I've noticed you've been smiling a lot lately. Been happy have you? Well, we can't let you ever be without that winning smile, now can we. So, while his new friends held me against the wall, my friend carved me like a Halloween pumpkin.
And now? Now I'm never without my winning smile. And, as for friends.... I'm my own best friend. As they say in the song, "who could ask for anything more?"
Jilldo saw my friends betrayal and raised me chef scissors.
Okay, I have to warn that most of my scar stories are told to me by what was once my Head J, now known as Reconciled J, as he's a reconciliation of various Js that had been haunting my head and vying for dominance. Now, I have one Zen Oneness Joker and he's got new stories to tell, just not Date Stories. So.... Let's see what he says this time around. I'm sure there will be bits and bobs of all sorts inserted... God help us all.
SCAR STORY 2
“Okay, here’s the thing,” he said, clicking his tongue with impatience. “I don’t mind a little ingenuity every once in a while, but you have to understand that this is my sandbox. Gotham is mine and, since you work for me, you’re mine too. I make the final decisions, I say when an idea is a good one, or….not. Do…you…under-stand?”
“I just thought…”
“You don’t have the intelligence quotient to think!”
The man, clearly older than Joker, glared at him with a simmering rage. He’d been in the business much longer than Joker. Joker noticed the silent insubordination and had had enough of it.
“Mr. Morden, I want to tell you a story. C’mere… Sit down. You wanna know how I got these scars?”
“Not particularly.”
“No no… Sure you do.” Joker nodded enthusiastically, his face a perfection of marred innocence. Once Mr. Morden was sitting across from Joker, a mere couple of feet from him, J leaned in intimately, his fingers spidering in barely contained excitement.
“See….A few years ago, I was an apprentice Carny, traveling the circuit, but always staying close to homebase, that being good ole Gotham. I did odd jobs around the carnival from running booths, telling fortunes, being a clown, operating rides. Whatever needed doing, I did it if I could.
“Well, one day, I was asked to stand in for the lady who usually was the target for the knife thrower. What I didn’t know was that the knife thrower had found out I’d been bopping his target… He’d been in the carnival circuit only for a short while, but he learned fast, and he was observant. Well…” Joker chuckled and lifted his eyes skyward in remembrance. “He’d observed all he needed to. So he decided to put the little apprentice in..my..place.
“I stood there with expecting the gag knife handles to blast out of the wall I was against and pop the pink balloons that surrounded me when the knife-thrower threw two knives, both of which were aimed perfectly. They got me here,” and the Joker gestured with is right finger up the side of his face. “And here,” and he made the same gesture with his left finger. “And they pinned me to the wall.
“Before an ambulance could get there, the knife thrower came up to me and he said…” The Joker looked to one side, smiled, and shook his head. “’Just because a guy is new doesn’t mean you have the right to take the sand out of his sandbox. He may outsmart you just to get it back.’”
The Joker looked at Mr. Morden, studying his sculpted good looks and wavy dark hair. Sure he’d been in the business for years, but treating the crime world like it was a carnival added nothing but a new spin on a worn-out, outmoded set of useless codes. They’d all forgotten there was no honour amongst thieves.
“Do you understand?”
“Yes, J, I think I do,” Mr. Morden said in that insufferably snide voice of his.
“No… I don’t think you do.”
The Joker lashed out with two large knives of his own, cutting Mr. Morden’s throat to the spine. He finished the job quickly. “Sidney!”
One of his most trusted men came rushing in. “Yeah boss?”
“Take this,” and Joker handed Sidney Mr. Morden’s head. “Put it on a pike in the back garden as a reminder to the others what a smart-ass know-it-all gets for his trouble.”
Sidney took the head without one word.
“I’d give anything for an army of Sidneys…..” Joker groused under his breath before looking about the kitchen for something tasty to take the edge off.
Orright, Jilldo saw my knife-throwing Mr. Morden in-joke and raised me vicious dogs.
Poor J…. he’s being perpetually mauled (Mauled?) today. But he does love to tell a good Scar Story.
SCAR STORY 3
J lay in the back of the big Cutlas Sidney had procured. His iPod lay on his chest and his ear buds were lodged firmly into his ear canals. He had his arms behind his head, propping up just a little, so he could look outside as they drove along Gotham’s busy streets.
“Sidney…”
“Yes, boss?”
“Do you….do you wanna know how got these scars?”
“Not if it means I have to die afterward,” Sidney replied honestly.
“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
“I’m all ears, Boss.”
Joker shifted his head to one side and squinted in Sidney’s direction. Was Sidney mocking him? No…no no, Sidney truly was all ears. He liked that about his Number One. Joker hoped to keep him around for a while.
“Welllll….” Joker began, placing his iPod on pause right in the middle of ‘Black Denim Trousers and Motorcycle Boots’ by Vaughn Monroe. “A few years ago, I just sort of woke up. I wandered and wondered, and ached and healed. These..these-these atrocities were right here on my face, healing and aching and itching me. I was mad from the pain of it, from the horror of what I saw in the mirror. I was broke and angry, and I had vague memories of Syndicate involvement in my current preeedic-a-ment-t. So I decided to don the war paint and take a little something back. I began to rob mob-owned pawn shops and I was very good at it. The men I used back in those days….”
The Joker got lost in reverie for a few moments and Sidney cleared his throat to help bring his boss back to the present. “The men I used….were less than pawns. They were walking bags of meat who lent me the brute force I needed to take what I wanted. When I was finished, so were they.
“BUT! That’s beside the point. What matters is how I began to remember how I got these scars. See there was this song that was popular then. It was called ‘Grace Is Gone’ by the Dave Matthews Band. When I first heard that song, I could almost see what had happened to me. Almost. So the story I’m telling you is partly a work of fiction because I’m still filling in the blanks.
“Once upon a time, there was a very young man, a man in his late teens, who had lived a hard life in the Narrows, but still believed in the goodness of people, mainly because of his Grace. She was his everything. They were soulmates, bonded to one another by a power greater than any Earthly decree. But there was, there was something wrong. Grace was sick. Very sick. And her young man was determined to get her well. So he went to the only people he could ~ the Mob. And he made a deal with them that he would work for them, do anything they wanted, just as long as they took care of Grace’s medical bills. Everything went swimmingly there for a while, Sidney. And Grace actually started showing signs of improvement. But the young man botched a job for the mob. He.. well, I don’t know what he did or failed to do, but the bosses sent their enforcers to our little home in the Narrows. The deal was off, they said. The bound me up with duct tape in front of Grace and, they gagged me with her panties, securing the gag with razor wire that cut into me slowly as I screamed myself mad. They made me watch as each one of them raped and beat my Grace and, the more I screamed, the deeper the razor wire sunk into my face. She was too weak to fight them. Chemotherapy does that. She just lay there, taking what they visited upon her frail and battered frame until she lay completely still forever. I knew I’d lost her and I screamed even more, savouring the feel of the razors in my face. They left me there, bound in duct tape and creating the smile you see now. I don’t know how long I was there before the men from Arkham came to get me. It was years before I came ‘round, devoid of what had actually happened.
“In fact, Sidney, what I just told you may not have even happened at all. Here,” The Joker handed Sidney the iPod. “Dock my iPod and play me ‘Grace Is Gone.’ I want to hear it….loud."
Here we go agaaaaain. I see your freak gardening accident and raise you spatula mauling
SCAR STORY 4
He sat in the interrogation room for the umpteenth time, eyeballing Commissioner Gordon with a merry gleam in his eye. Joker, that wily fox in human skin, dressed to the nines like the smooth Daddio everyone knew he was. His hair, freshly died green, fell around his face in impossible twists and twirls, embodying the Chaos Joker readily worshiped.
His war paint had yet to be marred by the inevitable police brutality, not to mention the obligatory visit from the Batman. Oh, he had anger issues, no doubt there. It was a good thing Joker could handle pain so well. It was one of superpowers as a sociopath, one of which he was quite proud.
“So, Commissioner, here we are again, sitting in the comfy dark room, mano a mano. Going for coffee any time soon? Should I prepare to have my skull bashed by a big mean Bat-t?”
“No, Joker…” the Commissioner answered wearily. “It truly is just us this time. Why did you do it?”
“Do what?” Joker asked innocently, biting his lower lip and lowering his head, looking up with large puppy-dog eyes. “Whatever are you talking about Commissionerrr?”
“The supermarket, you bastard. There were 67 people in that store. Men, women, 14 children! All dead. We can’t even piece them together to give them decent burials. Why, Joker?”
Joker flicked his head and half-lidded his eyes. His tongue snaked out to touch the scars that marred his lips and drew his face into a hellish permanent grin. He sat up straight and raised his cuffed hands to his forehead, brushing his unruly hair from his face. It promptly fell back into his eyes, but he seemed not to notice.
“Well….why not? HmhmhmhmhahahahahaHAHAHAHAHAH!” His laughter echoed throughout the room. The Commissioner just sat horrified, waiting for the malicious hilarity to die down. He’d had enough experience with Joker to know that it would always die down. And, by inches, it did until the Joker sat once more in silence, a smirk of accomplishment shining through his clown feature.
“I just didn’t like that supermarket, Commissioner. Did I ever tell you….how…I got these scars?”
“No, Joker.”
“It’s funny really. See, I worked at that A&P as a teenager. I as a baaaag boy, if you can believe that. I bagged groceries for people who could afford to buy food. Me? I stole what I could for my family.
“Well, one day, I was making my nightly rounds in the stock room when this sweet young thing caught me in the act of thieeeeevery! She said she was going to tell. Well….” Joker chuffed and smiled sidewise, nodding and lifting his eyebrows as he did so, as if the Commissioner were in on the joker. “This girlio, who worked in the bakery, turned to leave the stockroom and I was on her before she knew what happened. I pinned her to the floor and began to choke her, telling her that she was not going to tell…anyone.
“What I didn’t know is that the cutie had a large cake spatula, you know the kind they use to frost cakes, in her smock. She reached in somehow and rammed it into my mouth, shoving it back and forth, doing anything she could to make me lose my grip.”
Joker chuckled and nodded enthusiastically at the Commissioner, clicking his tongue in satisfaction. “If you haven’t noticed, Commissioner, I have a very high tolerance for pain. I killed her while she destroyed my face with a cake spatula. Do you know how embarrassing that is? To go by that hellpit of a supermarket and know that I’m the Clown Prince of Crime because of a tool that frosts birthday cakes?
“Sorry, but the place had to go. The people inside were simply casualties of war,” the Joker expressed, offering his palms up in a gesture of familiarity. “At least now they won’t be worrying about food and, if you can’t piece them together, I’m sure the mulch yard in the Narrows would be thrilled to have so much good fertilizer. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”
gunslingaaahhh and dandyxrandy want to add theirs here as well, that'd be wunderbar!Inspired by Jilldo Rosenburg's gift of lifting spirits.
*ahem*
::whispers::... You wanna know how I got these scars? C'mere... ::grabs YOU and has Cupid in your mouth before you know it::
When I was a - ah - callow youth, I had a friend ::rolls eyes and smiles sidewise:: who decided my friendship just wasn't enough anymore. So this friend of mine decided to.... to seek the company of others to....stir the pot a little. I wasn't too happy about this new arrangement. I felt a little...out of my depth. So I began to slowly back away from the situation, to maybe find my own way in the world.
And I did! I actually began to do much better without my lit-tle friend, who I found had been dragging me down. When he saw how much better I was doing than he, my friend decided it was time to bring me back down to his level.
So he and his newfound buddies cornered me in a bleaker area of the Narrows...if that's even possible...and my friend said, "J, I've noticed you've been smiling a lot lately. Been happy have you? Well, we can't let you ever be without that winning smile, now can we. So, while his new friends held me against the wall, my friend carved me like a Halloween pumpkin.
And now? Now I'm never without my winning smile. And, as for friends.... I'm my own best friend. As they say in the song, "who could ask for anything more?"
Jilldo saw my friends betrayal and raised me chef scissors.
Okay, I have to warn that most of my scar stories are told to me by what was once my Head J, now known as Reconciled J, as he's a reconciliation of various Js that had been haunting my head and vying for dominance. Now, I have one Zen Oneness Joker and he's got new stories to tell, just not Date Stories. So.... Let's see what he says this time around. I'm sure there will be bits and bobs of all sorts inserted... God help us all.
SCAR STORY 2
“Okay, here’s the thing,” he said, clicking his tongue with impatience. “I don’t mind a little ingenuity every once in a while, but you have to understand that this is my sandbox. Gotham is mine and, since you work for me, you’re mine too. I make the final decisions, I say when an idea is a good one, or….not. Do…you…under-stand?”
“I just thought…”
“You don’t have the intelligence quotient to think!”
The man, clearly older than Joker, glared at him with a simmering rage. He’d been in the business much longer than Joker. Joker noticed the silent insubordination and had had enough of it.
“Mr. Morden, I want to tell you a story. C’mere… Sit down. You wanna know how I got these scars?”
“Not particularly.”
“No no… Sure you do.” Joker nodded enthusiastically, his face a perfection of marred innocence. Once Mr. Morden was sitting across from Joker, a mere couple of feet from him, J leaned in intimately, his fingers spidering in barely contained excitement.
“See….A few years ago, I was an apprentice Carny, traveling the circuit, but always staying close to homebase, that being good ole Gotham. I did odd jobs around the carnival from running booths, telling fortunes, being a clown, operating rides. Whatever needed doing, I did it if I could.
“Well, one day, I was asked to stand in for the lady who usually was the target for the knife thrower. What I didn’t know was that the knife thrower had found out I’d been bopping his target… He’d been in the carnival circuit only for a short while, but he learned fast, and he was observant. Well…” Joker chuckled and lifted his eyes skyward in remembrance. “He’d observed all he needed to. So he decided to put the little apprentice in..my..place.
“I stood there with expecting the gag knife handles to blast out of the wall I was against and pop the pink balloons that surrounded me when the knife-thrower threw two knives, both of which were aimed perfectly. They got me here,” and the Joker gestured with is right finger up the side of his face. “And here,” and he made the same gesture with his left finger. “And they pinned me to the wall.
“Before an ambulance could get there, the knife thrower came up to me and he said…” The Joker looked to one side, smiled, and shook his head. “’Just because a guy is new doesn’t mean you have the right to take the sand out of his sandbox. He may outsmart you just to get it back.’”
The Joker looked at Mr. Morden, studying his sculpted good looks and wavy dark hair. Sure he’d been in the business for years, but treating the crime world like it was a carnival added nothing but a new spin on a worn-out, outmoded set of useless codes. They’d all forgotten there was no honour amongst thieves.
“Do you understand?”
“Yes, J, I think I do,” Mr. Morden said in that insufferably snide voice of his.
“No… I don’t think you do.”
The Joker lashed out with two large knives of his own, cutting Mr. Morden’s throat to the spine. He finished the job quickly. “Sidney!”
One of his most trusted men came rushing in. “Yeah boss?”
“Take this,” and Joker handed Sidney Mr. Morden’s head. “Put it on a pike in the back garden as a reminder to the others what a smart-ass know-it-all gets for his trouble.”
Sidney took the head without one word.
“I’d give anything for an army of Sidneys…..” Joker groused under his breath before looking about the kitchen for something tasty to take the edge off.
Orright, Jilldo saw my knife-throwing Mr. Morden in-joke and raised me vicious dogs.
Poor J…. he’s being perpetually mauled (Mauled?) today. But he does love to tell a good Scar Story.
SCAR STORY 3
J lay in the back of the big Cutlas Sidney had procured. His iPod lay on his chest and his ear buds were lodged firmly into his ear canals. He had his arms behind his head, propping up just a little, so he could look outside as they drove along Gotham’s busy streets.
“Sidney…”
“Yes, boss?”
“Do you….do you wanna know how got these scars?”
“Not if it means I have to die afterward,” Sidney replied honestly.
“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
“I’m all ears, Boss.”
Joker shifted his head to one side and squinted in Sidney’s direction. Was Sidney mocking him? No…no no, Sidney truly was all ears. He liked that about his Number One. Joker hoped to keep him around for a while.
“Welllll….” Joker began, placing his iPod on pause right in the middle of ‘Black Denim Trousers and Motorcycle Boots’ by Vaughn Monroe. “A few years ago, I just sort of woke up. I wandered and wondered, and ached and healed. These..these-these atrocities were right here on my face, healing and aching and itching me. I was mad from the pain of it, from the horror of what I saw in the mirror. I was broke and angry, and I had vague memories of Syndicate involvement in my current preeedic-a-ment-t. So I decided to don the war paint and take a little something back. I began to rob mob-owned pawn shops and I was very good at it. The men I used back in those days….”
The Joker got lost in reverie for a few moments and Sidney cleared his throat to help bring his boss back to the present. “The men I used….were less than pawns. They were walking bags of meat who lent me the brute force I needed to take what I wanted. When I was finished, so were they.
“BUT! That’s beside the point. What matters is how I began to remember how I got these scars. See there was this song that was popular then. It was called ‘Grace Is Gone’ by the Dave Matthews Band. When I first heard that song, I could almost see what had happened to me. Almost. So the story I’m telling you is partly a work of fiction because I’m still filling in the blanks.
“Once upon a time, there was a very young man, a man in his late teens, who had lived a hard life in the Narrows, but still believed in the goodness of people, mainly because of his Grace. She was his everything. They were soulmates, bonded to one another by a power greater than any Earthly decree. But there was, there was something wrong. Grace was sick. Very sick. And her young man was determined to get her well. So he went to the only people he could ~ the Mob. And he made a deal with them that he would work for them, do anything they wanted, just as long as they took care of Grace’s medical bills. Everything went swimmingly there for a while, Sidney. And Grace actually started showing signs of improvement. But the young man botched a job for the mob. He.. well, I don’t know what he did or failed to do, but the bosses sent their enforcers to our little home in the Narrows. The deal was off, they said. The bound me up with duct tape in front of Grace and, they gagged me with her panties, securing the gag with razor wire that cut into me slowly as I screamed myself mad. They made me watch as each one of them raped and beat my Grace and, the more I screamed, the deeper the razor wire sunk into my face. She was too weak to fight them. Chemotherapy does that. She just lay there, taking what they visited upon her frail and battered frame until she lay completely still forever. I knew I’d lost her and I screamed even more, savouring the feel of the razors in my face. They left me there, bound in duct tape and creating the smile you see now. I don’t know how long I was there before the men from Arkham came to get me. It was years before I came ‘round, devoid of what had actually happened.
“In fact, Sidney, what I just told you may not have even happened at all. Here,” The Joker handed Sidney the iPod. “Dock my iPod and play me ‘Grace Is Gone.’ I want to hear it….loud."
Here we go agaaaaain. I see your freak gardening accident and raise you spatula mauling
SCAR STORY 4
He sat in the interrogation room for the umpteenth time, eyeballing Commissioner Gordon with a merry gleam in his eye. Joker, that wily fox in human skin, dressed to the nines like the smooth Daddio everyone knew he was. His hair, freshly died green, fell around his face in impossible twists and twirls, embodying the Chaos Joker readily worshiped.
His war paint had yet to be marred by the inevitable police brutality, not to mention the obligatory visit from the Batman. Oh, he had anger issues, no doubt there. It was a good thing Joker could handle pain so well. It was one of superpowers as a sociopath, one of which he was quite proud.
“So, Commissioner, here we are again, sitting in the comfy dark room, mano a mano. Going for coffee any time soon? Should I prepare to have my skull bashed by a big mean Bat-t?”
“No, Joker…” the Commissioner answered wearily. “It truly is just us this time. Why did you do it?”
“Do what?” Joker asked innocently, biting his lower lip and lowering his head, looking up with large puppy-dog eyes. “Whatever are you talking about Commissionerrr?”
“The supermarket, you bastard. There were 67 people in that store. Men, women, 14 children! All dead. We can’t even piece them together to give them decent burials. Why, Joker?”
Joker flicked his head and half-lidded his eyes. His tongue snaked out to touch the scars that marred his lips and drew his face into a hellish permanent grin. He sat up straight and raised his cuffed hands to his forehead, brushing his unruly hair from his face. It promptly fell back into his eyes, but he seemed not to notice.
“Well….why not? HmhmhmhmhahahahahaHAHAHAHAHAH!” His laughter echoed throughout the room. The Commissioner just sat horrified, waiting for the malicious hilarity to die down. He’d had enough experience with Joker to know that it would always die down. And, by inches, it did until the Joker sat once more in silence, a smirk of accomplishment shining through his clown feature.
“I just didn’t like that supermarket, Commissioner. Did I ever tell you….how…I got these scars?”
“No, Joker.”
“It’s funny really. See, I worked at that A&P as a teenager. I as a baaaag boy, if you can believe that. I bagged groceries for people who could afford to buy food. Me? I stole what I could for my family.
“Well, one day, I was making my nightly rounds in the stock room when this sweet young thing caught me in the act of thieeeeevery! She said she was going to tell. Well….” Joker chuffed and smiled sidewise, nodding and lifting his eyebrows as he did so, as if the Commissioner were in on the joker. “This girlio, who worked in the bakery, turned to leave the stockroom and I was on her before she knew what happened. I pinned her to the floor and began to choke her, telling her that she was not going to tell…anyone.
“What I didn’t know is that the cutie had a large cake spatula, you know the kind they use to frost cakes, in her smock. She reached in somehow and rammed it into my mouth, shoving it back and forth, doing anything she could to make me lose my grip.”
Joker chuckled and nodded enthusiastically at the Commissioner, clicking his tongue in satisfaction. “If you haven’t noticed, Commissioner, I have a very high tolerance for pain. I killed her while she destroyed my face with a cake spatula. Do you know how embarrassing that is? To go by that hellpit of a supermarket and know that I’m the Clown Prince of Crime because of a tool that frosts birthday cakes?
“Sorry, but the place had to go. The people inside were simply casualties of war,” the Joker expressed, offering his palms up in a gesture of familiarity. “At least now they won’t be worrying about food and, if you can’t piece them together, I’m sure the mulch yard in the Narrows would be thrilled to have so much good fertilizer. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”
