Post by Joker on Oct 23, 2009 22:53:21 GMT -5
Character's Name:
Joker
Age
Thirty-four
Birthday:
May 5th, 1975
Birthplace/Hometown:
Gotham City
Gender:
Male
Occupation:
Self-tyrant; inmate at Arkham Asylum; chaotic persona bent on the natural destruction of law and natural order; mortal enemy of the Batman; The Clown Prince of Crime; basically, one badass motherfucker.
Ethnicity:
Caucasian
Physical Profile (height, build, weight, style of dress,hair color, eye color, skin tone etc.):
He was no ordinary man; perhaps at one point he was, and it was still there, somewhere....underneath the layers of charismatic makeup and insanity. The Joker held a rather formidable frame; being over six-foot-one, with broad shoulders and lean build. But this is not what commonly drew attention to himself; it was how he presented himself, how his face looked. Chalk white paint smoothed over his facial features, a stark contrast to his natural skin tone and attire. Ruby red lipstick smeared over his mouth and beyond, accentuating his trademark scars -- that always seemed to hold a different story, depending on the time of day. Kohl smudged over his ever-expressive eyes, a deep mocha. Light brown hair, haphazard and curled, peaked occasionally from the spray-paint of emerald; a tint of unnatural bright color.
All of these key components created a twisted version of a clown's pristine, decorative makeup. A never-ending smile plastered over his facade, yet he was hardly smiling all the time; but boy, did it considerably widen when he was! It flaunted his teeth, which while straight, did have a tint of yellow; though otherwise clean, and in tip-top shape. And those dark eyes were only emphasized by the rings of black to make them even more ominous in their glare. Skin underneath the makeup itself was smooth, even his scars; they were simply raised, and entwined, but certainly well cared for. His nose was not considerably big or small, but had a tendency to flare when he was exceptionally angry.
His clothing was customary, and downright expensive -- it was a good thing he didn't pay for it! An outfit dished out my the tax dollars of mob's and criminals alike, it was something to behold. Fine cotton woven in a light lilac shirt with deeper pentagon designs littered all over the shirt, wrapped up in a deep green vest, with a matching striped tie. Purple pinstripe pants hung from his hips, multi-colored socks and well-worn shoes, who have seen too much pavement and explosives, adorned his feet. All in all, a rather creative get-up for someone who was painted like a deranged clown.
A long trench coat, no doubt home to many hidden weapons, flowed heavily from his shoulders, to somewhere just between his knees and ankles. A few chains and knickknacks hanging from their pockets; along with a deck of cards. Upon his large hands was a pair of deep leather gloves, a darker hue to the trench coat and paints. The final piece to the Joker's usual outfit. However his attire has been known to change depending on the situation: whether it be posing as a nurse, or a member of the police force to get what he wants, there still is no mistaking who is within those sometimes silly, but necessary, clothes.
Personality:
How to describe the Joker's personality? It's the most insane complexity out there, dude! He can be just like a kid, sometimes; happy and laughing, hell, even skipping, while going along his merry hostile way. But he can also be extremely dark, exceedingly vicious, and demanding. There are two prominent sides to the Joker -- as well as smaller little sides, that may pop up in a few special occasions. First of all, he's bi-polar ; one minute he'll wanna dance with one of his hostages, and the next, BAM; he just shot them in the head. Generally this kind of treatment also goes for his goons. They'll typically be shot without a second thought, with only a special one or two who won't be, at least for a longer period of times. His mind thinks differently than the typical human, and it’s only natural for him to act that way, too.
No matter what mood he seems to be in, there is always time to blow something up, or make someone miserable. Why? Because he positively loathes being bored ! Things like television and music can only keep him entertained for so long; he'd rather be scheming or hell, take candy away from a baby then simply watch TV! But, he does have a niche for playing poker -- whether it be for his uncanny ability to have good luck, or the fact that those he plays with, let him win, for fear of dying. Nevertheless he gets a good sport out of it, and it helps pass the time...'cause even the wicked need some rest! Generally the Joker is a very social creature; and doesn't have a respect for personal limits or boundaries. He enjoys trying to pick apart their brains, find out what makes them tick, and then SNAP them.
Although most can’t stomach his strange prowess at social gatherings, he gets such a kick out of it -- flipping the switch from deranged sweetheart to murderous dog, if only to see the look on their faces! Although he has many sides to himself, they are all chaotic in one way or another; any type of affection he may have always endings up being intensely violet, dominant, and anything but romantic. His mind is usually wrapped around destroying Gotham (next to the world, anyway) and the Batman; and when things go wrong, this clown gets very cranky. An unhappy Joker is an unpredictable one, well, more unpredictable and testy than usual, anyway.
What Side Is Your Character On?[/b]
Villain
Background and History:
He was not born insane; never had he aspired to become Gotham's Most Wanted. Hell, he probably would've smacked you playfully if you told him that. Jack Napier, that was his name. He was just a simple, fun loving man; grew up in the suburbs of Gotham, before finally moving there when he was twenty-one. His childhood was nothing extraordinary -- he owned a dog, lived on a one-story house with his parents, an only child. The most traumatizing thing was when he parents got divorced, or rather, his dad just up and left. However it didn't last long with the overwhelming love from his mother, and the rest of his family. Jack went to school, got pretty good grades; ranging from C's to A's depending on the class and time of year. After graduation he was accepted into a small private school for business and electronics. This is where he begun to pick up his immense still was wiring, knowledge on bombs, and otherwise.
Things didn't go according to plan: though whether it was his plan, or his mother's, it was hard to tell, even if she always seemed proud of her little prince. However with his rocky attendance at school, and although he managed to get his Bachelor's degree, it was hard to find a steady job anywhere in the suburbs. Disappointed in himself he fled to downtown Gotham, where he rented a shabby apartment and managed to land himself a decent paying cubicle job -- boring? Predictable? It definitely was not something he had in mind to do, even while staying in the realistic state of mind. Perhaps, but this is where he met the person that would change his life forever....
Emilia.
The absolute love of his life. She was his perfect match, and exact opposite; where he was rather outgoing, she was just a little shy. He always seemed to be sure of things, however good or bad, and she would second-guess herself. Yet, they found solace in each other; and after three years of dating, they got married. It was a blissful eight years of marriage -- like a honeymoon, each and every day. After working at the firm for 5 years (he's 26 at the time) he was promoted to one of their larger affiliate companies, as an assistant manager; and while the position really required him to do many silly tasks, alongside observing others work behind the desk and ensuring things on his level went smoothly, the pay was good, and the hours weren't too taxing. It seemed like things just couldn't get any better than this.
Regardless of his position, Jack Napier was not a well-known name; he was the man behind the curtain, however excellent his work may have been. Which is why when he had been holding his assist. manager position for six years, and his higher ups were hinting at a large promotion, he redoubled his efforts -- he stayed in later, went in earlier, and did more work than ever. Unbeknownst to him, Emilia was having issues at home; unable to get pregnant, and slowly slipping into an increasingly depressive state without her man's ultimate sunshine, taking a toll to her mental and physical health. On their anniversary Jack was running late to get home (even though he actually wanted to get there early!) and someone broke into their house; and while nothing was stolen, the intruders cut the sides of her mouth, like a ragdoll.
Even after surgery and therapy, and multiple skin treatments to reduce the swelling and appearance of the scars, She knew they were there -- and hated them. And thus, hated herself. No matter how many rimes Jack told her how beautiful she was, and how much he loved her, none of it seemed to matter after that. Until one day, when he found her crying over the sink did he tell her the scars didn't matter to him, and used a razor to carve a perpetual smile onto his face; to match her. In what he thought was the ultimate proclamation of love (however twisted) only disgusted her; she screamed, cried, and ran away from their apartment, and him. Broken, bleeding, and alone, the tightly woven threads of Jack's mind began to unravel, letting out the dark recesses to take control, to numb the pain, and to bring a smile to his face.
Uncaring to the world around him Jack took a night on the town, induced by a few bottles of alcohol; his face still bleeding from the fresh cuts that were self-inflicted. Without even trying to he ran into Emilia, whom could only think her 'husband' was now stalking her -- and thus, with fear in her eyes, called the police. Upon their arrival things seemed to go smoothly, until he stole one of the officer's guns and smashed him over the head with it; creating a violent indent, and severe brain damage. His movements after that were staggered, and the rest of the squad escorted him immediately to Arkham Asylum, for a mental evaluation. During his time in waiting, he realized many things; how easily it was to instill fear, to kill someone, and to disrupt order. It was exhilarating, new, and...glamorous. There were so many options; so many hilarious options! It was like a brand new toy store, and Jack wanted a part of it.
He was in Arkham for two years, plotting; waiting; and growing sicker by the day in his own ravaged, warped mind. It was exceedingly funny to toy with the nurses, and the other inmates -- especially those with severe mental disorders. Jack found himself laughing a lot more, and meaning it. He also found, and those around him, seemed to grow wary of him when he was 'happy'. But the fun hasn't even begun! It wasn't until he heard the fiasco with Dr. Crane that he knew his time was coming; all this waiting, planning, and recruiting....there was finally someone out there that was worthy of his hostile antics, and chaos.
Batman.
Oh, he looked like fun! And he was! Even from the very beginning, after he escaped and found his way into the party thrown for Harvey Dent -- watching her dive after that pretty brunette, with no regard for himself. Hearing her scream all the way down, even when he had her. She reminded him of Emilia, with her screaming; which wiped off any admiration he had for her some-what fearless encounter with him earlier. One of his favorite parts with Batman was in the interrogation room -- where he begun to show his true colors; which is why he purposely gave him the swapped addresses for Rachel and Dent...if only he could have seen how mad he was! That just would've been the icing on the cake.
Although they did have a lovely chat on the roof, even with him hanging upside down, and even when the boats didn't blow up and he was arrested -- and unfortunately sent back to Arkham -- he knew it wasn't over. It was far from it, actually; and all this down-time was just making him more excited to get out, and reap onto the world his vicious comedy.
Any Special Abilities?
The Joker is talented at many illegal hobbies of his; first of all his love for things cheap, that happen to make the biggest BOOM. He's a nut for explosives and can wire and rewire them without breaking a sweat -- detonator activated bombs, rather than time ones, are a personal favorite. 'Cause then, he can't miss the show! Along with that is his decent hand-to-hand fighting skills; sure, ol' Batsy is definitely better, but that's why he always carries a fucking gun. However one of his most prized abilities is to make others go insane. He is the goddamn master and breaking even the strongest willed of minds, and warping them for his own amusement; or even aid, if necessary. Even the Clown Prince himself needs lackeys to do the boring shit for him!
Pets:
None 'personally' owned; some guard dogs here and there for everyone under his command in general.
Name of Play By:
Heath Ledger
Example Role Play:
"You're going back to Arkham, clown."
He childishly mimicked the others words with his trademark grin; though the red to accentuated those muscles were beginning to fade, along with everything else, that is. The back of the armored truck was nothing new; though the multitude of handcuffs and guards, well, last time it had only been one of each. Dark eyes glanced down, gloved hands trying to pry apart before a huff of air escaped his mouth; shoulders slumping, facade molding itself into a masterpiece of innocence, and purity. His jacket was dirty; his hair was an absolute wind-blown mess, and his knives? Ha! Clean out of them -- bastards even checked his shoes this time.
"You could've at least left me with a nail clipper? Now that just doesn't seem right-ah."
The guards shot him daggers; their muscles tensing, while he simply looked amused and leaned back on the cool walls of the truck, feeling the familiar bumps that signaled his 'home' was close. Frowning slightly he sighed heavily, and over-dramatically, causing a grunt of dismay from one of the guards across from him. They didn't seem to be very talkative bunch. Let alone the type to jump at the chance to cater to his silly needs of amusement, and something to do besides simply sit here, and soak up the recycled air. But one of them seemed to snap a little, just by his sigh; which, in his opinion, could've been much more dramatic.
"Be quiet."
Joker took on a flabbergasted look, and threw up his cuffed arms in the air, in a 'surrendering' fashion. "I didn't say anything, officer." He drawled out sweetly, and even batted his eyelashes; that seemed to hit a small nerve. The officer in the middle gripped his nightstick more efficiently, his jaw muscles tightening considerably. The guards gaze was firm, boring into his own without fear. It didn't take words to know that he wanted the Joker to shut up; whereas the other ones couldn't even stand to look at him, and seemed to flinch with his every breath. Looking between the three he raised an eyebrow, and puckered his lips a bit.
"Well, looks like I know who has the balls in this joint-ah."
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