That's Literally My Dream LMGKJSRNTKJNHSKRNTH - Tumblr Posts

Allison  knows  a  deflection  when  she’s  been  shot  one.    She  lets  it  go  without  a  fuss,    angling  toward  that  fussing  cat  rather  than  pushing  into  Joker’s  space  any  further.    That  white  flag  is  a  freebie.    Allison’s  wiggled  out  of  less  personal  questions  pressed  by  Joker  himself  and  evaded  worse  from  strangers.    That  crowd  outside  lingers  there  for  a  reason.    Between  the  two  of  them,    there’s  enough  useless  intel  to  feed  the  press  for  months;    longer  if  they  got  to  the  useful.

❝    This  is  probably  the  part  where  I  make  comparisons  between  cod  and  caviar,    ❞  Allison  jokes.    She’s  plenty  humored  with  that  self  -  jab,    though  Scott  tips  his  head  and  frowns  at  her  from  where  he’s  still  wrestling  with  the  crate  on  the  ground  a  few  feet  away.    If  he’s  got  an  argument  though,    he  wisely  keeps  it  to  himself.    Not  even  the  challenging  arch  of  Allison’s  brow  dares  him  to  refute  her.    ❝    I’m  surprised  he’s  not  clawing  his  way  out  to  get  to  you,    ❞  she  says  to  Scott,    but  in  answer  to  Joker’s  conjecture  as  well.

❝    Yeah,    ❞  agrees  Scott,    ears  pinking.    His  smile  is  equal  parts  dopey  and  bashful,    and  he  swings  it  in  Joker’s  direction  with  all  the  force  of  the  blinding  sun  coming  out  from  behind  the  clouds.    Joker  had  asked  Allison,    but  Scott  replies,    ❝    I’d  rather  avoid  the  gloves  or  a  towel  and  I’m  sure  you'd prefer that,    too,    so  if  you  want  to  come  and  grab  him.  .  .    ❞

Allison  shuffles  to  Joker’s  opposite  side  along  the  counter  to  make  room  for  the  impending  maneuver.    ❝    Dr.    McCall.    Animal  whisperer  extraordinaire,    admitting  defeat.    ❞  Scott  shoots  her  an  unimpressed  smirk,    but  she’s  already  grinning  at  Joker  knowingly and misses it.    ❝    Poor  Pancake.    If  only  you  hadn’t  introduced  him  to  caviar.    ❞

He shouldn’t smoke in a medical facility. Try enforcing it. The reception desk’s marbled counter shoulders his slight weight. Joker hasn’t stopped bouncing his leg since first he darkened this doorway.

Sokol rakes his enormous black paw over his master’s to try and quell the turbulence. The jostling travels up the light blue lead connected to Sokol’s service harness to where the lead loops through Joker's arm and wraps three times to the elbow.

Allison’s furtive jab is taken with a crooked grin and harsh, breathy laugh that shoots smoke precariously close to the monitors. Shifting from foot to foot both dissolves the noxious cloud he’s created between them and allows his second simper to soften at its edges. The scarlet paint stretches too far back on one end, too far down on the other.

What makes matters worse is Pancake’s drawled meow…and his flat head banging the padded — for his sake — carrier when he tries to escape Dr. McCall. It’s a wonder the trash outside hasn’t piled high enough to form the same barricade it does everywhere else in this town. It’s even more curious that he’s the only one in the waiting room…lobby…whatever it is. Perhaps that’s by design. Not everything’s been spared from Gotham’s true nature. A once-over traces chalky stains from the slush and road salt scattershot against boots worth more than he’ll ever see in his life.

Wagging his painted eyebrows, Joker leans into his next hit so he can watch the derelict black cat try to avoid routine medical care for the umpteenth time. 

“You’d think they’re used to outdoors…” he dodges the subtle topic swing toward him by gesturing at Pancake, “The stray ones…” smoke stacks vent from his nostrils, “But they hate it more than the mole rat I got Nixie from a breeder.” He nudges his chin toward the crate and asks Allison, “Need me to fish him out…?”