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The stranger doesn't flinch even slightly. No fear, no surprise.

"Batman couldn't make it," he says. "My name's John Blake. Can we talk?"
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"Curiouser and curiouser," the Joker murmurs. "You come right on in, Johnny."

He steps back with an inviting sweep of his arm.
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He scans the room as he enters, tensely alert; he's not afraid, but he's not stupid, either. All he sees is a lot of beat-up secondhand furniture, an ancient TV, playing cards scattered on the floor, drawings on the walls, and a spotless kitchen. No men in clown masks waiting to ambush him.

He's not sure if that's a good thing.
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"So what held up Batsy?" he says, locking the front door and sauntering past Blake to plop himself onto the couch.

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"He went to confront Bane. Didn't come back," John says succinctly. "What do you want?"

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"No-o," he says, drawing out the sound as he looks up at Blake. "You first. Why are you here?"

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"Because I don't think you're connected to - that," he says with a wave at the dark and silent TV. "And I wanted to know what you're after. Just 'Call me'? No dead bodies, no kidnappings, no bomb threats? From you that's practically two doves carrying an olive branch."

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He chuckles. "How old were you four years ago?"

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"Not that young," he says, raising his eyebrows.

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"Not that old, either. And you weren't a cop."

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"...Are you going somewhere with this?"

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He grins. "Maybe. All right, I'll lay out my cards. I want this new kid and his toy nuke the hell out of Gotham. Last I saw Batsy we managed to talk for five minutes without anybody doing any violence, so I thought I'd see if he wanted to help. Too many people all trying to move on this at once - I'm sure you can imagine." He makes an illustrative blowing-up gesture. "No good. Gotta work together. Less chance of somebody fucking it up that way."

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He shifts his weight, perhaps uncomfortably.

"And I should believe you because...?"
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"You already do," the Joker informs him. "The real question is, what're you bringing to the table here? I've got people. Resources. Not a lot, maybe not enough, but something. You? You're a rookie cop with a line to a man who's probably dead, and we can't count on him either way. From where I'm standinnng, you're just one more gun, and I'm not short'a those."

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"You're not standing anywhere," says John. "You're sitting down."

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He declines to dignify that with a response.

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John sighs. "All right, all right. No, I don't have much right now. But if you're serious about this, I can't believe you'd turn away help just because it doesn't come with a tank."

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"Maybe not. But if you're hiding any tanks, I wanna know about 'em. Sooner before later. I'm betting that whatever this guy whips out tomorrow isn't gonna be something I'd want in my Christmas stocking."

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"No tanks," he says, with a hint of a half-concealed smile.

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"Mm, but something," the Joker guesses. "Something worth a little more than your," he grins, "pretty face."

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Despite himself, John flinches at the combination of that emphasis with the Joker's wide red smile.

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"Oooooh, this little piggy's got some squeal in him after all," he says, and laughs. "Don't fret, I'm just teasing."

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"Ha ha," he says flatly. "Let's be clear about something here. We might be working together on this, and I might not have been with the force in '08, but you're still a terrorist and a cop-killer and if I ever think you're about to seriously hurt someone I don't want seriously hurt, I will shoot you."

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The Joker scoffs. "And what makes you think you could shoot me?"

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He's a little scared—who wouldn't be—but he's more exasperated.

"Are we really gonna do this?"
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