the--redacted--of-hellskitchen:
Being nice felt good. He’d spent a lot of time being an asshole. Plus, this guy seemed like he needed a dose of nice.
“Lucky me,” he smiled, taking a sip of his coffee as he–Jack–introduced himself. Matt was about to give his name when the shriek hit his ears something fierce and it was everything in him to keep from wincing.
God damn, that kid had a set of lungs on her.
“Of course. Good luck,” he said, nodding. Matt heard Jack go over to the table and listened between bites of his muffin to him entertain the child. That was sweet, he was very good at that. He smiled to himself, making a mental note to talk him up to whoever owned this place because that customer service was impeccable.
Matt left pretty soon after Jack did, not wanting to give him any more work to do (he’d done more than enough). He put his dishes in the bus bins, gathered his things and walked out towards his apartment. Matt grabbed a relatively short nap before waking up and having a protein bar and some coffee.
Now to negotiate his way into that suit…
He’d gotten rusty at this in his time off.
The suit fit well enough, it was a bit loose in the stomach and chest. Matt–Daredevil–was sitting on the roof trying to figure out how he had been able to listen to anything despite it not being that long ago in the grand scheme of things. If Stick were around, he would have been pissed though that could be said for any one of the behaviors he’d taken up since Elektra died.
Fuck Stick. Matt wasn’t doing this for his approval.
Normally he would have been able to pick out Joker’s sinister voice right then and there but between his time off and his unfamiliarity with the man it slipped by him completely. He wasn’t listening for it, so of course he couldn’t hear it–
That scream tore him out of whatever haze he was in. As he darted in its direction, he heard gunshots (which muffled the sound of the victim actually getting away) which only made him run faster towards the noise that was practically still ringing in his ears.
It wasn’t too far away, though the hero of the hour was still a bit winded when he got there. He jumped to the fire escape on the wall that the unfamiliar man was leaning on and then it hit him–there was no body. Daredevil furrowed his brow. There was no way he’d had enough time to stash it, even if he was quick about it, and that lady definitely died…didn’t she?
This didn’t make any sense. Unless this was a trap–then it made a lot of sense. Why bother to go the lengths to trick him, why not just commit a real crime? Wasn’t that what bad guys liked to do?
Whatever this was, it was happening and Daredevil had to act like it was part of his plan all along. Thankfully, that was something he was good at. He racked his brain idly for tips he’d heard, for newcomers whose MO it was to trick vigilantes with a flair for the dramatic and–fuck.
One name came to mind. One name who probably was itching of boredom since the death of Batman. One name he didn’t really want to fuck with right off the bat but–it wasn’t like he could leave now.
“I’ve heard legends about you.” The Daredevil voice was like riding a bike; he couldn’t forget. His hand went to the club stashed in his pocket as he stepped out of the shadows (which seemed so close to intentional one could practically doubt he was really blind.) “They were all out of Gotham though. What brings you to my city?”
If there was one thing he missed about the bat, it was that he had always been prompt. Sure, the batmobile was a ridiculous case of compensation and the fuel of so many jokes, but it had always brought its owner to him quickly, and he'd not had to wait for anyone in years. He’d have to teach the devil to be quicker—or get rid of him and find someone else. Either worked, really, though he was genuinely hoping this one would have promise.
And then, what seemed like forever to the Joker’s impulsive, easily bored mind, the devil of Hell’s Kitchen finally showed, stepping out of the shadows in a way so reminiscent of the Bat that it was almost familiar. Why, if the horns were a bit less pointy, and the mask and suit dyed black... It could almost be close enough. Almost.
He was drawn from his comparisons finally by the hero’s words—words which drew a squeal of pure joy from him. Of course, he knew he was (in)famous, but no one had ever referred to them as legends. Him! Legendary! It was enough to make a villain blush. On any other day, he’d have played it up, but he still did have some sense; enough to tell him that against an unfamiliar opponent, he’d be best off not abandoning his gun to clutch his cheeks and pull a southern belle act. Maybe in a few weeks, if the devil could keep up such flattery.
And then—and then the million dollar question. The Joker’s face fell serious once more, as he deadpanned, “I'm on a religious mission to take down the devil.” Less than a second later, his control broke, the serious face melting into one of mockery as he laughed uproariously as much for show as genuine mirth.
Still, he had been asked a question, and it would be rude not to answer. The laughter stopped abruptly as a deadly grin spread across his face. “Oh, you know, the usual,” he began, his tone conversational, contrasting heavily with the murderous look that he didn’t realize the other man wouldn’t appreciate. “Not enough bats in my belfry anymore. No, I'm afraid the one I had just didn't make the cut.” There was a momentary pause, as if he were considering something, before he added quickly, “Or maybe he was made into too many cuts, depending on your point of view.”
At this, the Joker laughed shrilly, partly at his own joke and his memories, and partly just because he could. With his introduction out of the way, he raised the gun in his right hand, aiming it at the other man, while his left reached for the concealed daggers within his cloak—the true threat, since he wouldn’t want to end things too quickly. “Anyway, I'm looking for a new best enemy now. Your little city seemed dirty and crimey, just like Gotham, so I figured I'd fit right in. So. Do you believe in enemies at first sight, or shall I walk by again?”