🎁
Sooooo I am well aware that this was probably just meant to be a ‘dump a description of the gift’ kinda thing… Buuuut I had the idea and a Drabble seized me sooooo, you got that instead. Hope that’s okay, along with the fact that this is massively belated…@jckerswiild-
“Hey - /freak/.” The word held so much malice - used like a curse word, the 'F’ drawn out, the 'k’ like the hammer click of a gun - why not just say 'fuck’ and be done with it? It wasn’t true, but it had been made clear that no amount of correction on his part would stop the best and brightest guards of Arkham calling him a freak, so instead he pretended not to hear.
“Hey!” The guard yelled louder and if only just to save the good mans voice - and his ears - he lifted his gaze, letting his dark eyes bore into the man - confined but dangerous. “It’s Christmas.” The guard told him as if this was supposed to mean anything to the restrained man.
“Ohhhhh.” As if he didn’t know. As if he hadn’t been thinking about gifts for weeks. He did hope she wouldn’t be mad when she didn’t receive anything this year from him - but naughty girls didn’t get presents. And it was a little more difficult to get her something while he was… Behaving. “Merry Christmas then. Did y’-” His voice was a deep rumble, and he paused to lick his lips noisily. “Did y’ bring me a gift?”
“As a matter of fact-” Jokers head perks up ever so slightly, this not being the response he anticipated. “You do have a gift.” Another guard brought in a small box, plain cardboard, no gift wrap and a white envelope. “Compliments of Arkham Asylum.”
“No expense spared, I see…” He said looking at the guard almost innocently from under his eyebrows. One of his restrained arms was released by the gift bearer, once they’d been placed in front of him. He glanced up to the guard, wordlessly, who merely crossed his arms and remained silent. Seeing no chink of light in the guards wall of resistance, he worked on opening his gift one handed - making surprisingly short, if slightly botched, work of it.
A Christmas pudding.
“No rum sauce?” He asked, hopefully. Silence. “No? Well how about a spoon?”
“Animals don’t need cutlery.”
His smile slid off his face. “Well, it’s not Christmas without the insults.” He retorted, though he was visibly upset as he worked his way into his card, slamming it down on the table before him, shredding his way into his Christmas pudding, jamming it into his mouth and chewing as obnoxiously as possible.
'Patient 4479’ The card read, 'Wishing you a happy and healthy festive period.’ And then, beneath the unfamiliar handwriting - a signature 'Dr. Kop-’ but as the p went to join the s - the signee had clearly realised who’s card this was, and wisely decided not to insult him by signing that name, the pen stroke veering off the paper wildly.
“How touching.” He said softly, shovelling the last of his pudding into his mouth, smacking his lips with satisfaction. “With such a personal touch.” He grinned, teeth full of his meal.
The guard glared at him. “Get him back in restraint.” He told the other guard heading to leave the room. “It’s four thirty on a Monday after all.” He added, glancing back at the Joker over his shoulder.
