"This really isn't necessary…"

Joker tried to insist, managing to not quite stumble as he was shoved in the small of his back by a bulky male in a black suit. He growled slightly between his yellowed teeth and flopped down on the cold metal bench inside cell 006 of Arkham Asylum's special 'underground' department for those who hadn't long to live.
_{(A/N: I doubt this is an actual place in Arkham, I simply made it up for use of this story…I actually have done that with lots of stuff since I am far from a Batman/Arkham expert, so please try to get over it. Thanks :3)}
And why didn't he have long to live? Well, Mr. Electric Chair hates to be kept waiting.

"Don't worry, clown," The guard spat,  glaring darkly at the new inmate, "It's only until tomorrow morning…" With that, he slammed the heavy cell door and locked up the various security precautions. The sounds of metal grating on metal made Joker grimace, his tongue flicking out in disgust at the noise.
After listening to footsteps trail away for almost a minute, the bizarre and somewhat disgruntled prisoner folded his hands behind his head and lay back against his steel bed,  crossing one leg over the other and contemplating how he'd get himself out of this one. Subconsciously,  his tongue crept out of the corner of his mouth, flicking the edge of his scars. Damn, it was weird not having all that makeup on his skin. Why'd they have to take it off him? Just so the world could see what he really looked like? Not hat it mattered, anyway. Nobody knew him. Nobody who'd ever known the old Jack Napier was alive anymore.
And bright orange so was not his colour.
Looking down at himself, Joker plucked at the baggy shirt. He was too thin - it hung off him like a sheet. Pff. Idle thoughts… something about the devil, ya ya ya. The devil would always be on his trail.
But if he was going to have a trail for the devil to be on by morning, then he'd have to think of something.
His sharp eyes darted quickly around the tiny cell - of course, there was a camera in the ceiling. No effort had been made to disguise it but no doubt there would be others, hidden, in case some prisoner decided to try breaking that one.  Well, that was fine. He had nothing to write on and wasn't planning on taking off any of his clothes so no problems there. Apparently some of one's best ideas crop up whilst dreaming, so Joker covered his face with his arms and shut his eyes.

-----------------------


"Geddup, Joker."
Gloved hands grasped him by the shoulders and pulled him into a standing position, only to slam him against the wall painfully before he barely had his eyes open. A hiss of pain was received in answer from the just-woken man.

"Aah, and good morning to you too, sunshine."
Joker forced his words out through gritted teeth, wincing at the rattled feeling the hit sent through him and blinking, squinting against the bright light. Not a morning person. He shook his head about a bit before plastering on his girly puppy face and batting his lashes up at the guard.
"What's for breakfast honey? Can we have pancakes?!" He gave a high-pitched, hysterical sort of giggle which was cut short by his wiry form being tossed back onto the bench. Smacking into the wall again, his head took another knock. At this rate there was going to be internal bleeding and concussion to deal with… yay. That is, if he managed to get out before being fried.
The angsty guard shot a death-glare in Joker's direction, then took a few steps back into the doorway to let a meek woman with mousey hair place a plastic tray on the floor. Screwing up his eyes, Joker peered at what lay on it - a pile of greyish sludge.
"Uh, no offence or anything darling, but this doesn't look like pancakes to me…" He said, grimacing. Translation; 'what the hell is this shit'
The guard ignored him, but the timid little woman muttered, "I-it's chicken stew…"
Joker sighed and rolled his eyes, leaning back against the wall.
"I'm a vegetarian."