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FFM8: Lawless Wandering

If you asked anyone who know him, they would tell you that Joker was an absolute terror. That he was notorious for making bets with unsuspecting victims, and they would always lose regardless of the odds. It was safer to make bets with the devil, a daemon or your friendly neighborhood loan shark.

 

To a select few, he was also known as 'that one demi-god that'd help Granny Tabby to bingo every other Sunday'. The elderly werecat would stop every so often to feed whatever feathered flutter caught her fancy, and was quite vocal with Joker about the going-ons she could see from her tiny kitchen window. But he was never unkind to her.

 

It was usually just after ensuring that Granny Tabitha had made it to bingo on time, in fact, that Joker would begin the cycle anew. He would go and terrorize some minor gods, or middle aged business men for fun.

 

Never children, no, they were still small and impressionable, much like half dried glue. Never teenagers, as they had enough uncertainty in their lives. Buit ruining the days of career politicians, investment bankers and mobsters was slowly becoming one of Joker's favorite past times.

 

That was, until he'd come down with the plague. Joker was at the brink of death for several days, sniffling and feeling generally sorry for himself. He took no visitors, and only managed to sniff at bowls of soup before vomiting.

 

On the fourth day, he managed to pull on pants with the pockets facing the correct way and he took it as a sign. He rolled out of the door with an angry expression that could clear a room, and wandered.

 

It would be a lie to say the fresh air helped him at all. In fact, it did nothing but make him more aggressive for little reason. Somewhere along the way he'd picked up a piece of old copper pipe, and was taking mild amusement in tripping any and all unsuspecting passerby dressed well and not paying attention to where they were going.

 

Joker cracked a smile when the third or fourth well dressed gentleman wound up face first in a puddle of questionable origins. He did not make any immediate moves to get back up, and this made it even better in Joker's opinion.

 

When he finally wandered into Grandma Tabitha's neighborhood, Joker was unable to tell the time or the day of the week- but he was feeling delightfully better, despite the blood spatter that made him look like a maniac.

 

He slumped down on the bench outside her home, and took a breather. As fun as it was to break other people's legs- and really, he didn't remember being that strong previously, it sure took a lot out of the demigod to have wandered so far. Joker was unsure of how long he'd been wandering, or how long he'd existed on the bench. If asked, he was determined to fumble for the excuse that the Hell District clocks were weird and never constant.

 

He was, of course, very wrong but very steadfast in this choice.

 

As if on time, Granny Tabitha sat down on the bench beside Joker and pulled him back to the present. She sat humming and feeding the baby griffins gathered at their feet. This, Joker decided, was quite peaceful. He could die right there and be okay.

 

Of course, then there'd be no one to ruin the arrogant peacocks with checkbooks. He thought on this. Copper pipes were in plenty supply, and he didn't know how long this splurge of strength would be around.

 

Perhaps, he thought, perhaps a few more days to ruin before he'd call it quits. But for now, humming and Granny Tabitha's stories would be enough.


FFM8, 2017


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