4220/Vacation Notice

Vacation Notice
Date of Scene:	25 November 2020
Location:	Gotham Underground
Synopsis:	Batman is invited to a pleasent picnic...with the Joker! Can the Caped Crusader escape the Clown Prince of Crime's deadly dinner? And what is Joker's startling new adventure in crime? Shell Game begins here!
Cast of Characters:	The Joker, Bruce Wayne

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The Joker has posed:
Last night, at exactly midnight, the Joker was reported missing from Arkham Asylum.

This morning, a letter was dropped off at GCPD headquarters, and after a careful examination by toxicology experts, was rushed directly to Commissioner Gordon. It was an invitation, written like an old fashioned dining card, inviting the Batman to 'brews and 'cue!' with complements. The address was worryingly direct; a longitude and latitude point that would put the location in sketchy area of the Gotham Sewers popular with a certain set of desperate people. With complements. Also included is a picture of a man, looking dazed. Blond, muscular, with an unkempt face and piercing blue eyes, Batman will recognize Carl Loeb as an engineer who was unknowingly working on a project for the Joker and who bravely informed on the Clown Prince of Crime once he realizes who he was digging holes for. His wrists are bound to a chair, and there's an electronic clock with '12 AM' displayed behind him.

Midnight. The hour of the Joker!

The junction is mostly abandoned at the moment; dank, dark, with a little bit of a chill.

Bruce Wayne has posed:
Some might argue that there is not truly a 'garden' section of Gotham City and that the whole place is just best to be avoided. Others find charm in the circa early twentieth century gothic charm that the city has and would gladly, fiercely defend it. Both groups would probably conceed however that any tour of the city would be quite well off in skipping sewers.

That is not a luxury that Gotham's Dark Knight has. Some might find it surprising that so many criminals or others of a less then savory sort would seek shelter down in the dark, cramped and occasionally stinking morass that is the literal Gotham underworld. They might be more disturbed to know just how many of a perfectly decent but unfortunate sort have had to do the same. Either way, Batman finds himself beneath the surface of his city quite often, the twisting paths no mystery to him. Though he certainly is more at home on the Rooftop highway that lets him get about the city with such surprising quickness and ease.

There really was never the slightest shread of doubt that he would make his way down here, no matter the danger, no matter the circumstances. It is the Joker afterall. Things never go well when he escapes from Arkham. But the sooner the Dark Knight can track him down the fewer nightmares the inhabitants of the city will be plagued with for years to come.

So he stalks those dark tunnels, moving swiftly but silently towards the coordinates that he has been provided.

The Joker has posed:
Following Joker's directions will lead Batman deeper into the underworld beneath Gotham. Whoever built this doomed city sure liked confusing, ominous catacombs, and the Gotham Public Works Commission has practically built their reputation on keeping up the dank. So far there have been no traps, no ambushes, no real sign of Joker's presence.

There is a power line, though. If Batman follows that he'll find himself roughly going the way Joker directed in his invitation; the power line is connected to a generator hidden somewhere in the walls. Further in, Batman will find a secluded junction; the whole spot screams 'ambush', it's able to partition itself off from the rest of the network, is near an active water supply, and also Joker's...decorated it.

He's set the place up like a picnic; a great big table, a checkered table cloth, a basket full of what smells like freshly cooked food; ribs, mustard greens, corn on the cob, Carolina-style white sauce, and of course cornbread and a big pitcher of southern style sweet tea.

There's also a monitor, as large as a decent sized flat screen, just across from the basket and table, along with a few speakers hung up carefully for ideal clarity in the room. That creepy attention to detail.

Bruce Wayne has posed:
To most, the dark and twisting tunnels of the sewers and other access passageways would be an impossible, inscrutable maze, impossible to fathom and impossible to navigate. To the casual observer the lack of landmarks, the lack of understandable signs and the lack of a sky above make it all but impossible to find one's way. But then the Dark Knight is not most people and he has spent years learning every corner of his city.

Where others might only see the same tunnel duplicated again and again, he can tell where he is by what wiring and piping is where. He understands the little markers that are painted at each intersection, the little blobs of color and seemingly random string string of numbers and letters meaningless to most. But not to him. Either way, he picks his way through those dark tunnels in order to arrive at his destination with several minutes to spare.

Say what you will about the Joker, but that diseased mind is usually, surprisingly meticulously prepared and detailed oriented. Sometimes it is almost overwhelming, just how detailed he can be and as the Dark Knight slips into that junction his gaze darts about -- narrowed behind the cowl he wears as they sweep over the scene.

That first pass is for any obvious signs of an ambush. Batman doubts that's what he's here for but taking any chances with the Joker verges on the suicidal and so he checks. Only then does he let his attention wander over the scene, the almost eleaborate picnic that has been set up, the perfect details. Slowly he steps out towards the table, towards the waiting monitor.

The show, apparently, is about to get started.

The Joker has posed:
And as if on cue, the screen turns on.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VBmCJEehYtU

The strange, crooning clown music plans in absolutely beautiful surround sound, as the camera pans back from Joker's hideous, scarred grin to reveal the Clown Prince of Crime himself, swaying to the music. The camera is subtly off, looking down as Joker clearly expects it to be center. "What? Damn! This Zoom thing, I tell you. Harley! Harley hel-ah." Joker runs a hand through his hair, blowing out air. "Bet you know what that's like, eh?"

A little manipulation and Joker's camera is fixed, showing his own table (he's picked out a beer for himself) with a similar spread of barbecue. "So good to see you! We never get together like this enough, what with you throwing bat-fists and asking bat-questions later so much these days? How are the kids? Mmm, mmm, good, good, and that whole 'Justice League' thing, you're still doing that? In broad daylight like a real superhero, hah, talk about personal growth! Here I thought Captain America stole your 'token team normie' job for the drooling public. Do you two get along? Feels like you secretly don't, but that's just a hunch."

Joker claps his hands, as if listening to his end of a friendly conversation between colleagues. Or maybe he's expecting something, since he takes a bite of his lunch instead of talking at the screen.

Bruce Wayne has posed:
Oh. It's going to be one of those.

While his breakouts might come so often that it feels like Arkham has a revolving door instead of security that is supposed to be top notch, there are usually certain flavors to them. Sometimes he disappears, lays low for awhile. Almost as if he expects that people -- Batman and his allies for instance -- will stop looking for him if he is off the radar long enough. And, human nature does make constant vigilence rather difficult, especially in Gotham City. It is hard to remain prepared for a threat that isn't here when there are a half dozen or others at any one time that are here and active.

Other times the chaos seems to start almost immediately. Property destruction, lives lost, or dire threats that only the Joker -- and maybe one or two others -- could possibly find hilarious. Those almost mean a quicker return to Arkham, true. But the nightmares over the inevitable failures tend to come quicker too.

And then there are these moments. The ones that feel intensely personal. It would take a true madman to want the Joker's attention focused on them. He's certainly been accused of that by some. But while the Clown is busy playing with him, he's not wrecking havoc on Gotham. That seems like a fair trade.

"Are we playing just regular folks then? Old friends catching up?" he says, his voice low and rough. He doesn't scream at the screen, indeed, he is quiet enough that one might have to strain to hear him, to make out what he's saying. To hang on his every word. He can be a little bit of a showman too when it's called for.

The Joker has posed:
Everything almost changes, right there. Batman can see the primal, utterly sincere glee on Joker's face, for just a moment, as the clown realizes Batman's playing along, just a little bit. These are always the best capers, when the humor hits his woefully insane arch-rival just right and they can actually have a little fun with each other.

Then he thinks of his bank account, and sighs. The things one does for art. "Well why not? Saves me more dental work, Bats. You really were into the brass knuckles for a while, don't mind telling you." Joker messes with his teeth a bit, wincing. "The truth of the matter is, as much as I'd love to be right there in the dirt grinding my heel into your windpipe..."

Another hand through that greasy green mop. "It's gotten a little stale, hasn't it? I feel like I'm not giving my all. And not just because of how many of my little rainy day funds you've exposed, eh? Hey, is that how you fund your operation? Do you have to launder your dough through Cobblepot like the rest of us slugs? How does that even work out? Secret code? Does Ozzy just like getting his nose broken every couple of months when he gets bored of semi-retirement? Hah!"

"He could start a crime of the month club, keep himself busy!" Joker bites into pork fat, his shoulders shaking at the idea. "Calendar Man'd lose his little mind! Oh. Oh excuse me, I've lost the plot here."

"Suppose I should dig it up. By now you've likely figured out I'm not even in Gotham. I won't spoil it by guessing how; probably something irritatingly clever instead of, oh, the clearly different time zone. The truth is, I'm pooped! I need a few weeks to recharge the old bat-teres, Batman."

Bruce Wayne has posed:
Even as they speak like this, no doubt Oracle is already trying to track down the source of the transmission, to try and narrow down where he might be. Where they can find him. There is probably a plane being fueled so that if he truly has slipped out of the city that the Dark Knight can pursue, to try and hunt him down before he does any harm. It is one of the things that he has going for him, one of the advantages he always seems to have over the variety of Arkham's most infamous.

At the end of the day they are almost invariably alone. When it counts they have no one else. And he? For all his lone wolf tactics, for his brusqueness, for his less than pleasant manner when that cape and cowl goes on, he seems to attract allies. The field of play is tilted precipitously long before the game begins.

It is a fair question, isn't it? Where does he get such wonderful toy? And how on earth does he pay for them? For all that he can be unrelenting in his pursuit of Justice, that does seem to translate into a strict respect for the law. He's a vigilante. He takes the law into his own hands. He trespasses. He breaks and enters. He is certainly guilty of assualt and battery on an almost nightly basis. Indeed, there seem to be few lines he doesn't cross, besides refusing to kill. So why not steal from the crooked? Why not fund his fight against crime with the criminals ill-gotten gains? It's certainly poetic. Very Robin Hood.

But id that is the source of his wealth, the Dark Knight is certainly not telling. As the Joker rambles on he stands in front of that monitor impassive and still, showing all the expression of a granite rock face. Hard and unyielding and no fun at all.

"If you wanted some quiet time you should have just said so. Come on back. I'm sure they would be happy to stick you in solitary confinement in Arkham for a few weeks. Even a couple of months if you need some time to just work on yourself," he suggests quietly, staring intently at that image on the screen. Ahhh, if only it were that easy.

The Joker has posed:
"You know, Batman, one time when I was in Arkham they had this idea, they said the inmates should help heal each other. By forming a community, the doctors said, a real community of saftey and trust they'll begin to understand the damage their criminal tendencies has caused the greater community of Gotham, and eventually the human race, blah blah blah there was a riot, Two-Face got clean side so he sucker punched me with a bucket."

"But the point." Joker says, getting close to the camera. "The point is before we threw aside the facade I had to play nice, and do you know who they set me up with? Poison Ivy! Do you understand what a LACK of personality that woman has! When she's not vamping it up it's like actually talking to a plant!"

"An entire hour of my life listening to that woman talk about SUNFLOWERS!" Joker gets up, in a thunderous rage, flipping his table over and causing it to crash violently off camera. A dog starts barking and there's a sound of someone crying.

"Shit!" Joker snaps, "I haven't eaten all day!"

"Alright, since you're being so colossally unhelpful." Oracle runs into some trouble; dummy accounts. The feed itself is rerouted through proxy after proxy, as if the Joker were somehow in Australia, Russia, Latveria, Genoshia, and North Carolina all at once. "I'm taking a vacation from killing you, Batman. Going to come back tanned, rested, and ready for action. I know you can't stand being away from these little meetings of the minds of ours, but I do hope you'll give Eddie something to do instead. I heard he reformed again, isn't that depressing? How many weeks do you think it'll last this time?"

"But." Here it comes. Joker's eyes narrow sadistically as he pulls a large, silver remote out of his jacket. "Just to keep my hand in the game..." He presses a button.

The grates start to close, isolating the junction from the rest of the sewer system. A secret door to the left opens, dumping out tbe bound and gagged form of Carl Loeb. He's trying to say something that, despite the gag, sounds a lot like 'It's a trap!'.

Bruce Wayne has posed:
No doubt, even as he is sitting here having this conversation with his most dire nemesis chances are he has Oracle in his ear, feeding him updates -- nothing good in all likelihood. Given time he is confident that she will narrow down the results, will be able to give him an idea of where the Clown is. Or was. There is a distinct possibility that the information will come too late to do them any good. He is used to that as well.

"It's possible that you have anger management issues. Perhaps some antisocial tendancies. Try putting yourself in Ivy's shoes," the Dark Knight suggests lowly. There is no humor in his voice, there almost never is. Maybe it is just a way to get under the other man's skin. To treat him like another mental patient. Just one more diseased mind in an absolute sea of them. Instead of /the/ diseased mind. "And now look, you've gone and ruined our nice picnic," he adds as the other man's psychotic outburst of violence sends the table -- and food -- flying.

He does not, however, pause to pick from any of the items on his table. He doubts that the Joker would bother with poison -- he can't see him getting satisfaction from finally bringing him down like that. But dealing with the Clown does have a way of ruining the Dark Knight's appetite.

It is no surprise when the Joker finally springs his trap. It was always inevitable right. The grinding sound of that hidden door sliding open makes Batman spring into action, already darting away from the monitor and table, his hand dipping into the belt at his waist and coming up with one of his batarangs almost like magic. In one smooth motion the weapon is hurled, flying towards the nearest of the exits from the junction, wedging itself into the wall to try and keep those grates from completely slamming shut. To leave a little leverage to work with.

There is no more playing with the Clown now and instead he darts for the fallen man -- poor ol' Carl -- snatching him up of the cold floor and tearing away the gag. Just in case the man has something critical to share.

The Joker has posed:
The Batarang lodges itself in the way of the closing steel grate. It's old, and Joker neglected to improve the construction..a fact he's visibly frustrated with over the monitor...so the Batarang will keep the gate from completely closing for a few moments.

That's when a small, targeted explosion goes off, breaking a water vein. In seconds the water level of the junction starts to rise, dangerously! With the runoff grates mostly sealed shut, there's nowhere for the water to go; and with the Joker's electronics in the room, even if the pair don't drown, there's a chance of electrocution!

"I thought I'd give you a goodbye present, that sort of thing's still customary right? A locked room, certain death, and a helpless civilian to save! I know it's not much, but think of it as...a prelude. I mean, you'll get out, right? You always get out." Joker looks into space for a moment, as the water rises. "But the question is, can you do it before the poison takes hold?"

"Hah." Carl says, eyes wide, as his lips start twisting into a rictus grin. "Haaaaelp! Bat man! Chest...hah! Hah hah huuurts!"

"Adieu, Batman! Or maybe I should say dos vadanya?" Joker asks, and holds his head back, "hhhhHHHHAAAA HA HA H A HA HHHAAAH!"

Bruce Wayne has posed:
It is surprising and perhaps disturbing just how many of his rogue's gallery seem to feel that springing these sorts of death traps on him are the highest sorts of compliments. Well, most of them probably actually want to kill him. He believes the Joker though when he says that he expects him to escape. He seems to love the game, most of all. The fun ends when the game does.

Again, the targetted explosion is no surprise. What better weapon to use in the sewers then water, afterall? He might have expected it, but that doesn't mean he can afford to wait around.

Still, rushing now will almost certainly mean that poor Carl's life comes to an end hear and now. So despite the batarang buying him a few extra moments, wedging that gate open enough so water can escape, so that he might have an easier time getting out of this rapidly filling chamber, he does not rush for the exit. Instead he survey's the unfortunate man's features for a moment, hand again darting to his utility belt. His very own trove of magical solutions, no matter the situation seemingly.

And this situation? Well, it calls for an antidote. Fortunately that is something pretty standard that he carries on his person, given the dangerous criminals he seems to face on a regular basis that make use of it. A syringe in hand, he plunges it into Carl's arm with the sort of practiced ease that only an experienced nurse might have. He has done this far too often. That cocktail is injected into the man. Only time will tell if it is enough. The problem with the Joker is that damn formulation constantly seems to change. "Hold on. I'll get you medical help," he says tersely to the man. Not the best beside manner, but if he survives Carl probably won't have any complaints.

Hefting the man up and over one shoulder, Batman moves swiftly through the increasingly deep water, approaching the grate that has not entirely closed. Rearing back, he kicks at it hard, precisely, trying to drive it back. And he does a few inches. That water continues to rise, creeping up over his calves, towards his knee. Again he kicks, and again, pushing it open a little more, letting some of the water flood out.

But still it rises inexorably. Past his knees, up towards his thighs. Up towards the level of the table and the electrical equipment. If he is concerned the Dark Knight gives no sign of it, finally drawing his grapnel out with his free hand. Aimming straight up he fires it off, those titanium tongs sinking into the concrete of the roof. He draws himself up, gives himself leverage and starts to swing, slamming into the top of that grate with extra momentum.

And this time it gives way, sending a flood of water -- along with Batman and Carl -- out into the passage beyond.

The Dark Knight doesn't even break stride, falling into a run, those long strides carrying him swiftly towards the nearest sewer exit even as he crouches low. "Hold on Carl. Help is just a few minutes away."

The Joker has posed:
"Oh come on, already?!" Joker snaps, as Batman thinks of the hostage first. Joker Venom is infamously versatile; Joker is constantly improving on the formula, developing different levels of lethality and other effects. In this case, the antidote seems to be doing its job fairly straight forwardly...

Which could well be a message. Joker's been giving enough of them in his little video. The proxy locations, the choice of meal, letting it slip that wherever he's hiding out has people under duress, his sign off.

"Booo, boo, umpire, throw em out! Throw em out!" Joker shouts, and winces at Batman's heroic feat of strength. "Well not that far out. You know I could sell this video for a small fortune, Batman! Oh, dear, it's seeping into the generator!" Joker's face starts to short out as the electronics are exposed...

...but Batman and Carl make it out just in time! The gate closes, and experts will be able to repair the junction of whatever else the Joker's hidden in there. There's finally a chance to breathe.

And meanwhile, the Joker combs his hair, getting his power point presentation ready. "Alright, that taken care of." Joker says to himself, adjusting his bow tie and making sure the spread is hot. "Mm, really is delicious, you should bottle that sauce...now, time to make some money!"

"Enough to drown the world in."