❝ Oh wouldn't that be grand now... the bat and the clown prince, dead together in the heart of Gotham. Some might even interpret as forbidden lovers tale... ❞ The ridiculous statement was followed by a mocking laughter which escaped the Joker's throat, the corners of his lips curving into a malicious grin.
Once his laughter would seize, his wild green hues would bore into her oaken ones similar to a drill drilling into the wood, ❝ Tell you what Bats... let's live, what's fun is there to die if we're both going to miss this cat and mouse game. We both know you'll keep saving both our lives time and time again at any expense. ❞
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Contempt, the depths of which were as fathomless as the ocean, curdled in the Bat's veins. Her scowl is almost palpable beneath the cowl. Mighty gloved fingers snare in the back of his collar, which she uses to easily maneuver his form.
The rumbled sound that erupts from the confines of her throat is wholly unamused, teetering on the faintest tapestry of RAGE. Gotham's rags would LOVE that sort of salacious material. Forbidden lovers. HA. With her luck, it would have made the headlines for MONTHS. She can't, no, she WONT do that to Alfred. "You belong in a padded cell." She snarls. Internally, she thinks, with a tanks worth of sedatives.
The Bat can't tell what grates on her fraying nerves more; the Joker's manic laughter, or his suggestion that they might be considered "forbidden lovers". Whatever trash Arkham was allowing for consumption, it needed to be tossed out the window. She makes a mental note to inform the staff that they ought to take more stock of what's considered permissible.
Despite the temptation to surrender him to the hounding wolves of the crime family, Bri knew she couldn't abandon him to DIE. Doing something like that would lower her to his level. A level so low, it might as well be occupied by snakes. His tittered ramblings are gifted a series of tightened jaw-twitches. The gritting pressure feels like it is nearly enough to crack her pristine molars.
Briefly, she meets his entrenching gaze. She abhors that he KNOWS her mentality so intimately that even she cannot mask it. "Come on," she gruffly snarls, attempting to propel his feet into action with a less than friendly shove to his back. He isn't inherently wrong. This thing of theirs was magnetically contagious. It was almost like she was the magnetized North pole and he was the South, they were always destined to collide. "If we survive this, you will OWE me for EVERY breath you take. Is that clear?" Her voice carries with it an undertone of command.
She seizes the clown by his shoulders. "Hope you're not afraid of heights." The growled words holding no bars back. A swift glance is given the nearest massive window. By now, her intention to throw them out of the skyscraper sans parachutes ought to have been obvious. Not even a flicker of fear appears in her eyes as she steps over to the shattered pane and over the foreboding ledge. Her gaze downwards is intensely clinical. Was she hoping to unnerve him? Probably.
