Chapter Text
They’re loud and yet they aren’t saying anything.
Cassandra Cain isn’t looking at her family members. She’s trying not to focus on their movements, on their temperaments, on the language she’s learned since she was . No, instead, she forces herself to listen to them. It’s a difficult task, and one that she finds is a burden greater than if she couldn’t speak, couldn’t understand them. But seeing as she can speak, and seeing as she can hear them - it’s on her to try .
Dick is laughing at something Tim has said, but Cassandra doesn’t understand it. No, no, she understands the words themselves, and the words by themselves…but she can’t understand them put together, this hidden meaning behind them that’s burdening her. That’s sending Dick into such a fit.
They include her. Bruce puts a hand tentatively on her shoulder and says something, Cassandra doesn’t immediately catch it, having focused her attention on Tim and Dick’s conversation. ‘’Leave Dick alone, Tim, hasn’t he suffered enough?’’ The words register in her mind.
He guides her to the couch, where Tim and Dick are. She sits there with them and she focuses, she looks, and maybe she stares too much - but she can’t help it because otherwise it’s difficult to concentrate. And she’s trying not to let body language guide her.
So many lessons with tutors to help her navigate the realms of the English language. So many moments where she tries and she fails and she knows she’s becoming too frustrated to succeed. It’s easier to sign, so she signs. But she catches herself before she becomes too compliant. She has the ability to understand this now, and it is like a muscle she must train.
So she won’t give up.
She refuses to give up.
Tim’s looking at her. He’s said something. Cassandra smiles. His smile widens and he knocks her gently on the shoulder. ‘’See, Cass agrees!’’
She has no idea what she’s agreed to. Looking at them and listening are two different things. And having them look at her when she has to speak - those are two different WORLDS.
‘’How are you getting on with your studies, Miss Cass?’’ Alfred asks her, joining in on the fun. Dick is bemoaning something. Tim is mercilessly teasing him (though, she isn’t sure how, he’s saying something to him, but maybe they’re inside jokes - maybe she just doesn’t understand jokes)
She gives a thumbs up to Alfred. He smiles, though not with his eyes. So she forces herself: ‘’Good.’’
And her voice is so unused. Even at lessons she talks less and less and signs more and more. It’s a different language, she’s been told, and it’s as equally valid as the one she has in her mouth.
But a voice is a powerful tool. Language is a tool. And she has spent her entire life learning and excelling at using all sorts of tools, all sorts of weapons. This is by far the most dangerous one. And she, too, will excel at it.
‘’Barb..ar…a,’’ Cass struggles, already flooded with frustration, because she knows what she wants to say, but she can’t say them, she can’t make the words dance in the same line as she can make her body dance, and she just gives up halfway and signs. She wants to go see what Barbara is doing, so after ballet lessons she’ll go over to her place.
‘’You need to be patient with yourself.’’ Bruce puts a hand on her shoulder again. When she looks up at him she can read him like an open book. He is so easy to read. All people are.
People, while they may be easy to read, painfully try to muddle the waters of what Cassandra can see and what they want her to see. They are afraid, a part of her knows, there is no greater fear than being known, than being seen and read. People are like books, but they are too afraid to recognize that and accept it. So they will fight, so they will hide, but even through their best attempts, you will be able to read them still. You will be able to fight them.
‘’I…know…’’ Cassandra scowls. She clasps her hands into fists and folds them over her lap, stopping herself from signing. ‘’I’m…trying.’’
Dick says something. Alfred shakes his head fondly, with a smile on his face. Bruce laughs, waving him off. Tim hollers something after him, causing Dick to frown and to shout back, though the way their bodies stand is good natured, even though their voices are loud and the words they’re saying are cruel.
Cassandra stands in the middle of them, always included, yet still somehow feeling left out.
In ballet, she forces herself beyond her limit. She excels, her tutors say, she is perfect, they praise, she is beyond their expectations, they gush.
Hollow words. Cassandra spins on her pointe shoe and slams her feet down when a move demands it. The sound is loud, they say, maybe she should ease up, they suggest, you’re usually so gentle, they say - is something the matter?
And she can’t even say. Because she doesn’t have the words for the feeling she has in her chest.
‘’Isn’t she just lovely! Oh, Bruce, you’ve outdone yourself with this one, truly.’’ A woman titters. Another one giggles. They look at Bruce, but they talk about Cassandra. They talk like she isn’t there. She wonders if the feeling in her chest is relief not to be spoken to with the expectation of having to speak, or anger at being seen, yet again, like a thing.
Cassandra is wearing a dress. Bruce is wearing a suit.
Tim and Dick are out on patrol tonight.
Cassandra does not like Bruce Wayne, billionaire playboy. He takes her to galas, he laughs that fake laugh, and he tries to be someone he is not. He is always on edge. He does not like who he is when he has to wear that face.
Cassandra looks at herself in the mirror every time she has to go with Bruce Wayne anywhere, before and after. She looks at the reflection staring back at her and she touches it, runs her fingers gently over the mirror glass, and doesn’t have the words to describe what she feels, but it doesn’t matter, of course, because she feels those things all the same. How can Bruce Wayne be two people, she wonders, if she cannot even be one?
How does that work ?
She smiles for the photographs, but then she frowns, then her brows furrow and her eyes narrow – and Bruce is leading her away from the photographs. She is wearing a dress, the most wonderful dress, and she is comfortable in it. That’s important, she’s been told, to feel comfortable.
Com-for-table, she sounds it out with her mouth, if not her voice yet. Having seen it be said to her so many times. They all care about her comfort. So she touches the most wonderful dress and she runs her hands over it gently, worried that she might tear it apart with her bare hands. But she doesn’t do that, because there’s someone always nearby to drag her out of those thoughts.
Bruce smiles. Bruce laughs. Bruce dances. Bruce jokes. Bruce does all of these things he doesn’t do as Batman.
But it is still Bruce, isn’t it? It is still Batman, isn’t it?
Her phone chimes with a notification. She takes it out and sees a message in the family group chat. Family, Cassandra still isn’t used to that, not really, but she knows she will do whatever she can if she sees any one of them in danger. All she does is send a thumbs up emoji and closes the chat.
The phone blows up. Cassandra doesn’t know if she’s done something wrong, but she doesn’t check to see the faux pas she must have made. Speaking hurts her throat. Reading hurts her head. Writing is a whole nightmare altogether.
But sometimes, still, Cassandra catches that they’re not sure how much she can understand them. But it doesn’t matter, she wants to tell them, because she understands them perfectly when it matters: out there, in the capes, when not understanding can mean life or death.
Not understanding someone when they laugh doesn’t mean anything.
Cassandra hears laughter. She ignores it. And she continues going towards a more secluded area of the Bruce Wayne charity gala. The socialites, oh how they coo at her, how they touch her, how they call her polite and cute and precious, how they praise Bruce for giving her a chance at a better life, how they speak things that to her ears sound like gibberish, and they must be- because Cassandra understands everything that’s important.
She takes out her phone and sees that everyone is liking her thumbs up emoji. She sends another one.
Even more notifications.
Cassandra is beginning to worry that she does not understand anyone and that she will never be able to understand anyone outside of their capes. Her frown deepens.
’’Yoo-hoo,’’
Cassandra lifts her head up to see a clown trying to break into the party via the fire escape and a window. But the window is closed. And it’s December outside. So he must be very cold.
He knocks on the window. ’’Knock knock!’’
Then grins wide.
Cassandra stares at him impassively.
He knocks on the window again. ’’Knock knock!’’
’’Who...there...?’’
The clown’s face lights up beautifully. He screams laughter and then remembers himself, so he swallows it halfway out. ’’Honey bee!’’
Cassandra moves past the window. This doesn’t look like something she should be concerned about.
’’Wait, wait, come back!’’ He starts knocking more urgently. ’’Knock Knock! Who’s there? Honey bee! Honey bee who ? Honey be a dear and get that window open for me! Nooo, come back here!’’
Cassandra takes a couple of steps back. She knocks on the window.
’’Who’s there?’’ The clown jumps from one foot to the other. He’s getting cold, must be, because he’s sneezing something fierce and rubbing his gloved hands together.
’’Cold.’’
’’Cold who ?’’
Cassandra points at him, with concern. ’’Cold... you.’’
The clown laughs so hard Cassandra thinks that the glass window might break just by the potency of his voice. ’’Oh, you’re funny !’’
Is she?
Cassandra’s a lot of things. Most of them are deadly. Nobody’s called her funny. Not even her family. Her family only ever laughs when she does something funny by accident. Though, she can feel this difference: they never laugh AT her.
She doesn’t get to talk more to the clown before Bruce finds her and when he turns towards the window, there isn’t anyone there. The clown doesn’t wind up attacking the charity gala, his plan thwarted. Though, she’ll later find out that all he wanted to do was surprise his Brucey-wucey.
’’What are you doing here, Cassie?’’
Cassandra shrugs her shoulders. ‘’Bored.’’
Bruce smiles, and it isn’t fake, and he guides her towards a quieter place, telling her that they won’t be here for much longer. He’ll be back soon and they’ll go home. ’’I’m sorry if this is too much for you.’’ And he is sorry, she can see it in the way his shoulders hang low, and the way he holds himself.
Cassandra nods.
Under the cape and cowl it’s a wholly different matter. She swoops down like an agent of the night and nothing can stop her. There is nothing that she can miss. The people around her perform like marionettes whose strings she can see long before they actually go through with their plans. Cassandra laughs in the face of their plans, foiling them right before.
But she doesn’t laugh. Not, really, she’s deathly silent. She’s a weapon, after all.
No.
No. Bruce says she isn’t a weapon anymore.
Barbara says she’s a human being. A person . A girl .
Cassandra kicks the criminals down and ties them up with ropes. Her hands don’t shake. Her resolve doesn't falter. She isn’t with her father anymore. These are just clowns she’s fighting.
But not the Joker, the man she saw at the window that night. Cassandra’s seen him a few more times than that. But it isn’t her place to say anything. After all, Bruce knows. And she can read him, too, whenever someone mentions the Joker. He has a secret about the Joker. And he’s terrified. Yet one might never be able to tell if they only listened to the words he said.
The Joker’s much more open about everything.
’’I’m in love!’’ The Joker dances around and sings a song. His form is open towards her, his whole body radiating an energy that’s joyous, merry, and transparent.
She tilts her head to the side when he steps up to her, making a gesture like he wants her to dance with him, but she doesn't move, so he pretends to dance with air instead. ’’Ah! Dear ol’ girl, isn’t life just so grand?’’ a pause. ’’Well, as long as you’re having a good day, that is!’’ A laugh bubbles up from within him: ‘’Maybe now I can only have good days!’’
Cassandra’s apprehended all of his henchclowns. Now she’s leaning on a doorframe and watching him. They’re waiting for Batman. Nightwing isn’t here, he’s been sent to chase after the cargo full of hostages heading straight for the docks. Those people will meet their watery demise, or they’ll be saved. Cassandra blinks under her mask.
The Joker is right in front of her again. He knocks on the door behind her. ’’Knock knock!’’
Her voice rasps out, the only thing she’s said all day: ’’Who’s...there?’’
’’Who!’’
’’Who...who?’’ Cassandra puts all of the confusion she can into her voice. Is it supposed to be just one word like that? And the same one?
’’Well, looky here, you’re not much of a bat, are you – more of an owl instead! Who Who!’’ The Joker laughs.
Cassandra doesn’t get the joke. She punches him in the gut.
He doubles over and groans, cradling his stomach with his hand protectively: ’’Ugh, taking shots at people who don’t get the joke, indeed .’’
She kicks him in the face, next, and when he comes to he’s in Batman’s custody.
There’s a rule. Batman has a lot of rules. But this isn’t just a rule, really, but The Rule. Her tutors say that putting capital letters on things gives them that additional emphasis.
Robin isn’t allowed near the Joker.
It goes both ways. The Joker tends to avoid Robin as much as he can on the field and off it.
‘’I could have helped.’’ Tim complains, crossing his arms and huffing. He’s sitting in a chair right in front of the batcomputer in the cave, pouting.
‘’That’s non-negotiable.’’ Batman says. He’s still wearing the cowl.
Cassandra’s taken her off. Dick’s taken his off.
Tim glares at Batman. ‘’You can’t keep treating me like a kid.’’
Cassandra looks at Dick, ready to take a cue from him. Dick’s mouth is a thin line. He’s unsure of what to say, but he’s also restless.
There’s history here. With the Joker and Robin, not this one, mind, but there is a muddled, terrible history. Cassandra can understand Tim’s aversion to being treated like this, seeing as he, himself, doesn’t have any history with the Joker. But when he puts the cape and cowl on, doesn’t he embody Robin? And Robin does have a history with Joker. One drenched in blood, too.
Cassandra wonders if Batgirl has history with the Joker. She runs her hands over the cowl and doesn’t have the words gentle enough to use to ask Barbara.
‘’You let Cass be with the Joker! And nothing happened.’’
Batman takes the cowl off and when Bruce Wayne glares like that, it isn’t the billionaire playboy at all - it’s Bruce Wayne, the father figure.
There’s a new rule.
Cassandra should, also , avoid the Joker.
She writes, because it’s easier to manage the migraine than the pain in her throat when she speaks and it doesn’t sound how she wants it. At least the letters are always the same. He tells me jokes.
’’He does that.’’ Dick says. ’’Don’t listen to him.’’
He called me funny, Cassandra almost writes, but doesn’t.
Should she not listen to that, either?
Cassandra isn’t sure she can put that out of her mind.
Batman and Nightwing and Oracle and Robin are all on her side. They love her and respect her and they interact with her. But every time they laugh it goes above her head. She doesn’t know how to include herself. It’s frustrating, so she goes and she dances ballet and she imagines that on the tip of her pointe shoes she’s got blades to swing. So she imagines those same blades going down into her heels, embedding themselves into her, deeper, and deeper, until her feet are rivulets of crimson.
Pain she understands.
This, Cassandra breathes uneasily, this she doesn’t .
Cassandra painstakingly writes what she wants to say, but she doesn’t get a single word in before someone else catapults into the conversation and derails it completely. So suddenly, so easily, they’re teasing Dick about something he said. Cassandra’s head spins from the speed of it.
The unsaid words rest in her notes.
And when she goes to her room, she takes out the phone and sees the notes and googles. Knock knock.
Hundreds of options come to her at her fingertips.
The next time they meet is when Cassandra sneaks back into Wayne Manor, having skipped her ballet lessons. She liked the long, long walk. But what that means is that she sees someone she shouldn’t be seeing.
‘’Yoo-hoo!’’ He waves, with a lazy smile and bed hair, and a dishevelled appearance that only points to one thing.
Cassandra sees him and she reads him and she just grimaces at everything her mind supplies her with. She suddenly knows way too much than she ever cared to know about what Bruce does when they are away.
’’You aren’t mute, are you?’’ The Joker asks her. He’s peering intensely at her. And he’s dressed in a bathrobe and she’s dressed in tights, and it’s all upside down.
Cassandra shakes her head no. She goes to take her phone out and write something, but he moves to see what she’s typing, so suddenly privy to her thoughts in the notes. He sees all of the knock knock jokes she saved. And he laughs. ’’Ha! These are good, do you like knock knock jokes?’’ Then. ’’Do you want to try telling me some?’’ Before Cassandra can shake her head, he’s pushing her out in front of the couch and he’s rushing to take a seat, miming to get a move on, like he’s in a comedy club and she’s his comedienne. ’’Come on! Get on with the show! Woo, woo, woo!’’
Cassandra knocks on the wall she’s close to. Knock. Knock.
’’Who’s there!’’
Cassandra takes out her phone and mouths the words against her mouth, breaking her tongue over the foreign feeling, strengthening it all like a muscle she’s never had to use before now. But it all rasps out, barely above a whisper: ’’To.’’
The Joker’s leaning towards her, straining to hear her. ’’To who?’’ He doesn’t even need to fake the confusion, he isn’t sure he’s heard her right.
’’Actually...’’ Cassandra fumbles, ’’...it’s...to... whom .’’
The Joker bursts into giggles when it catches up to him. Or when his brain finally makes sense of her whispering. He claps his hands loudly and he’s contorting like a wiggly snake on that couch. ’’Oh that’s good , kid!’’ Then they switch. He’s jumping off the couch and ushering her to sit down. ’’Now it’s my turn!’’
Instead of needing to knock on the wall to be heard, the Joker merely mimes the knock and says, his voice a powerful instrument that he can carry across the entire room, across an entire atrium if he so wants to: ’’Knock knock!’’
’’Who’s...there?’’ Cassandra knows how to say that. She nods, proud of herself because it’s slightly louder than it was before. Especially when the Joker winks at her and continues.
’’Razor!’’
’’Ray-zor, who?’’ Cassandra stumbles, mouthing it to her chin first, before saying it.
The Joker’s jumping from foot to foot again, giddy, excited, so open – never hiding anything. Everyone hides something, Cassandra knows, but he doesn’t – he’s so open and free and strange and he knows all of the jokes. And when people laugh he knows exactly why.
’’Razor hands,’’ the Joker points his fingers at her, in the shape of a gun, closing one eye to take aim, ’’this is a stick up!’’ He even sticks his tongue out.
And Cassandra raises her hands up. But she’s smiling .
’’Now it’s your turn!’’
They switch.
And Cassandra knocks on the wall again.
’’Who’s there!’’
’’Etch.’’ Cassandra calls this a success. The Joker doesn’t need to strain to hear her.
Though, Joker must have heard this one before. Because he plays along too well: ’’Etch-WHO.’’ He rubs his nose and lunges his body forward, how it happens when someone sneezes.
Cassandra takes out a tissue from her pocket and offers it to him.
When he sees the proffered tissue, the Joker starts laughing and crying. ’’Oh kid! You’re GOOD ! What a subversion of expectations. I love it! Keeping me on my toes, I see. Always keep your audience on their toes, I say!’’
Cassandra smiles again.
She finds that it isn’t so hard to smile.
’’My turn!’’
They switch again.
’’Knock knock!’’ The Joker mimes a knock.
’’Who’s there?’’
’’Otto.’’ He stands frozen in place, with a befuddled expression on.
’’Otto...who?’’
’’Otto know.’’ He shrugs, looking forlornly in the distance. Then turns back to her. ’’I forgot.’’
Cassandra tilts her head to the side at that one.
He’s giggling though. ’’It’s not a joke if I have to explain it.’’
Cassandra understands it. ’’It...not...funny.’’
’’Oh, well, taste is a different matter entirely.’’ The Joker sits down next to her and asks her if she reads. She nods. And then he asks her if she writes. And she nods. ’’But you don’t really speak, do you?’’ This time she shakes her head. ’’Is it because you don’t have enough vocabulary? You know there are these things called dictionaries –’’
Cassandra knocks on the coffee table right in front of the couch. Knock. Knock.
Joker takes the hint. ’’Okay, sure, sure, I figured Brucey-wucey put you in lessons already. But does he talk to you?’’
She nods.
’’But you don’t talk back.’’
She shakes her head so-so. Then she goes to write in her notes app, but he puts a hand over her hands and gets her to go up in front of him again. ’’It’s your turn.’’
She scowls at him now. But she does it. Because it is her turn now. She knocks on the wall.
’’How about you try to imagine there isn’t a wall there. Try again!’’ The Joker booes at her. ’’I’m a heckler now!’’
Cassandra simply moves towards him and knocks on his head twice.
It sends him into a spiral of laughter and she hasn’t even said her joke yet.
’’Okay, okay,’’ the Joker calms down, or at least he’s trying to, ’’who’s there?’’
Cassandra gets on her knees. ’’Too...short...for...bell.’’
’’Oh my fucking god.’’ The Joker whispers to himself, looking away for a moment. Turning back to her. ’’Are you really the same person as that bat you dress up as?’’
Cassandra nods. Then. ’’Yes.’’
’’You know, I think you’ve got a nice future in knock-knock jokes ahead of you. But I feel like slapstick might be more your style.’’
’’No talking...there...’’
’’No, no talking. You’re right.’’ The Joker’s rubbing his chin in thought, humming. ’’We need to get you to a full routine. With a lot of puns. Puns are a good mnemonic device in stand up, helps you remember your lines.’’
’’Am I...funny?’’ Cassandra points at herself.
The Joker looks up from his thoughts. He sees Cassandra standing there, like a soaked rat in the rain, waiting for him to say something. ’’Yeah,’’ he says, and he means it, Cassandra can tell with how he waves his arms, with how his face contorts, with how his whole body moves, ’’you’re funny. Made me laugh a lot, didn’t you, kiddo?’’
A pause, then. ’’You made me laugh a lot.’’ He corrects himself.
’’Why?’’ Cassandra points at him.
’’Ah, the correction?’’ He knows immediately what she means. Bruce would have had to specify. ’’Well, I have an accent and I don’t talk by the book,’’ he even slows down the way he talks – not by much – not so it’s condescending, but enough so she doesn’t have to strain to understand him, ’’so I might as well make an effort to talk all ’english teacher’ like, right?’’
’’You teach?’’
’’God, no, kid, I can barely teach myself how to brush my teeth in the morning.’’
’’You...talk...a lot.’’
The Joker opens and closes his mouth. He smiles. ’’I’m going to take that as a compliment.’’ A pause. As he, in turn, reads her: ‘’Do you want to talk like me ?’’
Cassandra nods.
When the Joker talks, everyone listens to him. When Cassandra talks, everyone pays attention, but they grow bored – she can see the interest dim in their eyes, in the way they don’t have the patience to bother.
She wants it to be easy to listen to her.
While he can’t read people like she can, he can read people in a way not even Bruce can.
’’Can...’’ Cassandra struggles through the words, but she wants to try, she wants to try so badly, ’’you…teach…me?"
"That'd require some consistency, kiddo." The Joker says, sizing her up and down. "We don't cross paths often."
Cassandra does something he doesn't expect. She lifts her phone and hands it to him.
His eyebrows shoot up and he grimaces in surprise. He's unsure what to do. It's written all over him in a text Cassandra can read without issue.
"Ah…this feels illegal somehow.'' He awkwardly laughs. Antsy. His whole body goes rigid. ''Like I should not be doing this. Bruce won't like it."
"I…can…block you."
The Joker shrugs his shoulders, easing. He seems satisfied with that. "Fair enough. Block me if I prove too much and we'll call this experiment over." A pause. "What exactly do you want my help with here?"
Cassandra opens her mouth. Nothing comes out. Joker waits. Impatiently, really, but the interest in his eyes doesn't dim, even though he's tapping his foot along the floor. She finally manages to voice: "I don't know…anything?"
She feels so removed from her peers, she feels so removed from her own personhood. And yet the man in front of her is so painfully in tune with himself in a way that it transcends everyone else's expectations.
"I… I'm… not anything."
"I'm not a shrink." The Joker tells her. She nods. She doesn't want him to be. Bruce has her talking , well "talking" to dr Leslie Thompkins already. She doesn't need a shrink from him.
Cassandra nods. "Good."
It gets another giggle out of the Joker. "I'm a busy guy. Might - I might not be able to answer you immediately." A pause. "No calls. I don't do "calls". We'll just text. Or well… ehhh… you do need to talk… " He's thinking.
Cassandra shrugs her shoulders. "Write…it."
Joker is yet to put his number in her phone. And he bristles at her cool voice. "So bossy, chatterbox. Fine. Fine. I want a joke from you, though. Every day .’’ The Joker says as he’s putting his phone number into her phone. He saves the contact as Knock Knock. ’’Every. Day. And I’m going to send you a word of the day. And you need to use it in day to day conversation with whoever it is you can talk to that day. And then you gotta tell me when and where you used the word. Got it?’’
’’How?’’
’’Well, I’m going to install something called whatsapp – oh you have it – good – so just send me an audio message.’’
’’And?’’
’’We can play words with friends, but I think that’s a little advanced for you.’’ A pause. ’’And for me, honestly. I feel like I’m forgetting English. French keeps coming more and more out of me these days. My trip to Europe completely rewired my brain.’’ He turns to look at her. ’’I’m not sure if that’s a real thing that happened to me or if I’m using hyperbole. I’ll do that, often. Just talk out of my ass.’’
Cassandra points at him. ’’French?’’
’’Bonjour.’’
’’Bon-jour.’’
The Joker then gets an idea. ’’How much do you need to know English, anyway? Like you understand it, right?’’
Cassandra nods.
’’You’ve got to be a little genius if you can fight like that – your coordination is superb, you understand others – but you just want others to understand you better, isn’t that right?’’
She nods.
His lips quirk up. ’’Tu veux apprendre français, aussi, ma chouchoute ?’’
At her blank staring, he adds with s smile: ’’Oui,’’ then leans the other way, frowning ’’non?’’
’’Whee.’’
’’D’accord ! C’est génial pour moi, parce que je veux parler français plus et plus chaque jour, mais, en malheureusement, je n’ai personne à qui parler.’’ The pain in his face, and in his voice, ‘’Batman peut parler japonais mais pas français. Comment ? Comment je demande !”
Cassandra stops him from running his mouth for another half an hour by gently knocking on his arm.
It's like she wakes him from a daze. ’’You’re so right, kid, I need to go home. All of the kiddies are returning and I’m not allowed anywhere near them. Can you believe Bruce, he probably has no idea that we’re even talking. He was like, Joker ,’’ and it’s startling how easily he embodies Batman’s brooding voice: ‘’I need to go deal with something in Wayne Tower, I’m sorry to cut this short, but you have maybe another hour before Cassie’s back from her ballet – so you can get a drink if you like. Ha ! I’m not telling him we talked, though, he’ll throw a FIT.’’
’’He can...choose...what...to...see.’’ Cassandra grimaces. She isn’t sure she said that right.
’’Right! You’ve noticed it, too !’’ But it doesn’t matter, because the Joker seems to understand, ‘’He’s like: Joker,’’ his voice drops an octave, ’’you aren’t allowed to disturb the kids. They don’t know about us yet. It would crush them if they found out. Please, don’t make me tell them before I’m ready. It’s difficult for me. Gruff. Gruff. Brooding bat voice. Grrr. So I will invite you to the Manor only when I know we will be alone.’’ Then the Joker gestures to her. ’’But I’ve already met all of you and he’s none the wiser because you little creeps come back early or you don’t leave and then I run into you! I’ve already met Circus Boy. And Jeeves, I think, though I might not be certain for that one. And I’m sure dear Barbie’s seen me on the cameras. You caught me first, though, I will say. You just snuck up on me in the kitchen and you scared the life out of me all of those months ago!’’
’’No...Tim?’’
’’Oh no, no, I take my promise very seriously. I’m not touching little Robin with a ten foot pole. We’ve agreed and I’m not breaking that. The Joker is not allowed anywhere near Robin/Tim.’’ A pause. ’’Well, now THAT’S an idea. If the Joker isn’t allowed anywhere near Timothy, who’s to say a law-abiding Bruce Wayne-sque person isn’t?’’ He looks at Casandra, then. ’’Not purple. Name a colour.’’
’’Blue.’’
’’Navy blue or light blue?’’
’’What...navy...blue?’’
’’It’s the dark blue.’’
’’Navy blue.’’
The Joker rubs his hands together. ’’Oooh! I AM kicking ass at this. You’re my trial run, and if I do well with you – I might pay Timmy a visit.’’
’’No hurt.’’
’’Of course not!’’ The Joker screeches. ’’How could you ever think I would be so cruel.’’
Cassandra mimes swinging something.
The Joker’s staring at her. He snorts, but swallows down a laugh.
Maybe she needs to use words, too. So she mimes swinging again. And at his stare she says: ‘’Stick.’’
The Joker is trying desperately not to laugh. ’’That is called a crowbar and I know exactly what you’re trying to reference with that. I need Bruce not to be mad at me so I am holding my laughter in.’’
Cassandra mimes an explosion. ’’Fwoosh. Boom.’’
The Joker is clasping a hand over his mouth, painfully. Looking anywhere but at her because if he looks at her he’ll burst out laughing. Muffled.: ’’Kid, you are terrible, you know that?’’
’’Funny.’’ Cassandra points at herself.
’’Oh that, definitely. But you’re still terrible .’’
Cassandra wakes up to find close to thirty messages from the Joker. The grammar is impeccable. Well, the grammar in the first two messages isn’t, but then the rest is. It’s like he’s reminded himself to try. There’s an actual word of the day as he promised.
Malarkey. (noun) It means something like “nonsense or foolishness”, meaningless talk in any case . You can use it in a sentence like this:
Bruce: I prefer cats to clowns.
You: That is malarkey AND slander, good sir.
:) I hope you have fun with your word :)
So much for abiding by the ‘strictly professional’ relationship where he just sends her words and she sends him jokes…the Joker’s sent her photos of his hyenas with captions: Do you like animals? I don’t know if you like animals. I am trying to figure out what teenage girls like these days. Are you looking forward to Barbie?
Cassandra does not type anything back.
It’s okay. He’s sent more messages.
I think Barbie will be fun.
Do you like ballet?
If you do, I bet you’ve seen Swan lake. Did you know there’s a Barbie movie with that whole shtick?
Shtick doesn’t mean stick, by the way.
Shtick means
Wait
a gimmick, comic routine, style of performance, etc. associated with a particular person.
That’s what google says.
Maybe you don’t like Barbie and I’m just boring you.
D:
Oh god you’re just too polite to say anything. D: Woe!
D;
TT-TT
I’ve been blocked, haven’t I?
Holy shit wait, it’s 4 am, you’re asleep .
My bad, kiddo! When you wake up, use your word of the day and tell me how it goes!
Throughout the day, the Joker doesn’t text her. She doesn't send a voice message either. She’s yet to use her word, so it’s on her. Tim is busy doing this or that, he asks her if she wants to game with him. Shrugging, she accepts the offer and they’re holed up in his room playing against one another.
Tim shoots Cass dead. Cass frowns. Tim teases her: ‘’Guess you aren’t as good in the game as you are in real life. Maybe in a million years you’ll be able to beat me.’’
Cassandra frowns at the game over flashing on her part of the tv.
‘’Oh come on, Cass, don’t be like that. I’m way too good, is all.’’ Tim tries to rub it in her face, again, high off of his victory. He’s yet to beat her in person in any sparring session, so he settles on celebrating his digital victory.
Cass knows everything Tim is saying to praise himself is all nothing but: ‘’Malarkey.’’
Tim laughs so hard when he hears her say that. ‘’Where’d you even pick that word up?’’
Cassandra smiles. She made Tim laugh. ‘’Word…of…the day.’’
‘’Oh, nice. Was it your tutor’s idea?’’
Cassandra nods. ‘’Yes.’’
Tim asks her if she wants to play co-op next.
This time, louder: ‘’Yes.’’