A productive cough would cause a pale hand to be raised to a ruby grin despite the obvious discomfort. The clack of heels on tile echoed down the hall as a series of men, a couple dressed up nice in appropriate purple and green attire, to a disfigured brute in nothing but dickies and a wifebeater. The Joker's own custom suede shoes shown wear from favored use. The man was sick, mentally, emotionally, and particularly in body. Having just recovering from a disease that would have killed him had he not recieved an antidote prior his escape from Arkham Asylum. The events that led to him aquiring such an illness ended with him being locked back up in Arkham, residing it it's incompetent medical ward. He would still be there had it not been for a cynical desire to live and develop an antidote. He viewed the place as a summer home, a place to relax between his various forms of "entertanment". This is why no one has seen the Joker's antics on the Gotham Gazette. Damnit the man was still on bedrest, he barely had time to scheme!<br/><br/>"These are pretty shitty hotel rooms boss." one of the men said. "You own the place." the Joker sighed. "That's uh, what I meant." the goon replied, embarassed. Everyone was on their toes, no one was happy if Mister J wasn't happy and boss J was bored. Gotham was tame, for the time he had spent in Arkham had caused him to fade into obscurity. The corrupt system of the criminal underworld was working, and the unknowing citizens of Gotham had nothing to complain about. In such rare times of peace, he found his creativity stifled. He couldn't figure out how to give this town the wedgie it deserved. His only excitement being the timekiller of procuring an antidote so he didn't die. In this endeavor he found a certain Edward Nash that allowed him access to the chemicals and equipment needed to engineer an antidote. Good ol' Edward Nygma. He chuckled to himself at the thought. He needed to do something to Batman, he had a point lead due to the fact his system of justice worked. The Riddler was rehabilited and legitemately employed. It was sickening.<br/><br/>"Judy, I'm going down for a nap. Be a babe and find me a cutlery set, duct tape, and a weedeater. I want to see how many screams I can get out of that." He yawned, gesturing at a casually dressed effiminate man. noting his henchmen's expression at the request. "What? I'm bored." They made themselves comfortable inside a shabby hotel room, the Joker retiring in a rare moment of actually sleeping. Easily put to rest at the thought of how he had manipulated a considerable amount of money into his networkm essentially stolen, through his dealings with the financial aadvisor. Of course without his knowledge and some forgery and deceit. The numbers would add up, he had made sure it was almost impossible to detect where the money went, it was also an excellent way to occupy his mind...Until he got bored with it.