𝙅 𝘼 𝘾 𝙆 .

And, almost like sensing him, the bloodied clown turned to observe a familiar witch, shielded by an umbrella. Lips quirking into a lopsided grin, while attempting to stop the cigarette from tumbling out, "How do you always find me, when I look the most insane?"

A cigarette sits between lips, stained with blood and head, lulled back against exposed brickwork. Letting smoke, trickle free and reach skywards, as those eyelids close, taking a longer drag, as rain starts to wash his sins away.

"Sweet citrus? Very nice," he nods, meeting her gaze with a soft smile and eventually, letting his gaze lower to the outstretched orange, "thank you, but your habits? I fear my smoking is somewhat worse, by a wide margin." He offers a playful shrug, followed by a faint chuckle.

"Aren't you considerate?" He replies, while trying, rather oddly to see the sticker, pressed on that forehead and glancing over, "What does this say?" It's a sticker, so what's so important about it? Nothing, but he still wants to know.

Gotham has, once again, descended into chaos and with this spooky season, in fully effect, is anyone surprised? Not him, at least. Unfortunately yes, he'll be joining in the festivities, so if anyone sees a devil clown, 𝒓𝒖𝒏.ᐟ

Enjoying a few hours, suspended by his wrists and getting his wrists, tenderised by a few amateurs. Why play along, when he's picked the cuffs twenty minutes into being restrained? Needing a little escape, from the tedium.

Stretching on a mortuary slab, one might be surprised, probably horrified, to find him down here. Gotham City is a mess, but this place, is one of the quietest around, always best when trying to combat insomnia.

Laying in a bathtub, water tainted by the excessive amount of blood. Some is his, the rest? Well, these last few days have been hectic and Halloween always brings out the worst in others, to little surprise.

Descending into the darkest, and deepest parts of Gotham, to where Old Gotham, once resided. While the Iceberg Lounge, might be one of this city's most known clubs, it wasn't, in truth, the only one. A stark contrast, from Cobblesnott's monument, to his overwhelming ego.

Trying to smoke and, apparently, not get mauled by — wait, is she walking hyenas, on roller blades?

Wait, she knows about the pumpkin, how? Then again, maybe it's suitable for him, shame there wasn't a mime bear. A bit, then again, it's been sometime since they've been together. By the way, how's the multiverse treating his favourite witch?

A little greedy, to take both, but which does she think ultimately fits his vibe? Natalia is far too kind, to a rotten fiend like him.

He wants to say the ghost, but he fears, truthfully... Whatever that abomination is, second on the top row is, feels right.

Incinerating the pumpkin mask and clothes, worn throughout his four day crime spree, it's time to returns to normality. Well, as close as one could honestly get, in Gotham City's criminal underworld.