The Insanity of Reason Chapter 1: Client, a batman begins/dark knight fanfic

Disclaimer: Yeah, I wish.

Rating: M for Mature

Content: Violence, language, sexuality and disturbing situations.

Summary: Of all the shops in Gotham, he had to choose mine. JokerOC

A/N: ACH! Thanks to Yuki Hikari, I went back and fixed everything. This takes place shortly after the first bank robbery we witness in the opening scenes.

The Insanity of Reason

Chapter 1: Client

I grasped the broom in my small hands. Business was slow, unsurprising as usual. I swept the threads and tiny scraps of fabric into a small, colorful pile before bending down and scooping them into the hand held dustpan. I sighed, dumping them into the garbage. Mr. Burns was at home, caring for his ailing wife, as he so often did now, leaving me alone in the tailor shop. It was rare, to see him there. I opened shop at eight a.m. sharp, Monday through Saturday, and closed around six in the evening. It wasn't a bad job; the pay was decent enough for me to live off of, but not enough to go back to med school. How ashamed I was, when I had to call my parents back in Korea to tell them that I couldn't afford my schooling anymore.

But I digress.

Autumn was close and the leaves in the park were just beginning to turn color. The summer heat slipped away quickly and the dark of night came sooner with each passing evening. I had a healthy dose of paranoia, as every single woman who led a city life would. Of course, I wasn't afraid to venture down from my apartment and next door to the convenience store for milk at two in the morning but I certainly didn't wander down any janky alleyways either. The radio drawled on in the background, announcing that the Gotham City Symphony would be playing in a week's time in Wayne Hall. I rolled my eyes. Half the things in Gotham had "Wayne" tattooed on their ass. At least the tailor shop wasn't called Wayne Tailor. I almost snickered; it sounded like a bad Western.

I peered up at the clock. It was getting close to six as the minute hand ticked. I rolled my head, cracking the growing tension that rested between my shoulder blades. I set the broom aside and meandered to the windows. I used a hooked pole to pull down the metal curtains Mr. Burns had invested in. Moving on to the next window, I cranked the steel down and leaned the pole against the adjacent wall for the next morning. I walked behind the counter and fished around for my purse. Now, I don't particularly like purses, as they tend to attract unwanted attention when I'm walking. Quite frankly, I prefer having my wallet in my pocket and my keys in hand, in case I need to punch some loony in the face. I've only had to do that once and the end results weren't that pretty.

The door opened and the welcome bell tinkled in an obscenely merry way. Judging by the weighted footsteps on the tile, I judged that a man had just walked in. I sighed,

"I'm sorry, sir. We're just about to close for the night."

"That's, ah, too bad. See, I, ah, had a job for you, girly." My ears perked. A job? I mentally weighed my options: sit around at home watching bad re-runs, or sit around at home and make some money? The prospect of some cash sounded good, especially since Bert's deadline was coming up. I straightened, smoothing some wrinkles on the stomach of my shirt.

"What can I do for you, sir?" My eyes rose to his face and I suppressed a gasp. A lump grew in my throat, but I remained still. Had it not been for the pearly, jagged mutilation on either side of his mouth, he could have been handsome. They marred his olive skin and for a moment, I couldn't breathe.

"I have some designs, see?" He tossed a folder to me, brown eyes glittering with some fierce inferno held behind weak walls. "I want it done by the end of the wee-kuh." I licked my lips nervously. It was Tuesday. I had until Sunday to make whatever this man wanted me to make. Sunday was Bert's collection day.

"I'll- I'll need a little money to start." I tried swallowing my anxiety and failed outrageously. Hate and madness seemed to roll off the man in unrelenting waves. "I have to buy the fabric first…" He grinned and the scars on his face stretched and twitched. I suppressed a shudder. He reached into the back pocket of his ratty, greasy jeans and pulled out a wad of cash.

"I'll be waiting here Sunday morning. Be done." With a strange chuckle, the man left me alone once more in the shop.

When I got home an hour later, I plopped on the couch, having removed my shoes at the doorway. I flipped open the folder. They were pictures of three-piece suits and trench coats, all from different magazines and two pieces of white paper with the outline of a hand colored purple. However, the faces were scrawled over in white and uneven coloring covered different articles of clothing. I inspected each image. In one photograph, a gentleman's coat had been tainted purple, with what I assumed to be, permanent sharpie. This manner of imaging continued, each picture outlining a separate piece. The colors were, well, bizarre. Frowning, I leafed through the cash and was surprised to find four hundred and seventy two dollars. I lightly chewed on the inside of my lower lip and decided that it was in my best interest not to question the source of the money.

I rose with the sun and groggily made my way over to my tiny bathroom, discarding my clothes as I hobbled along. I fumbled with the cold faucet knobs, cursing my inability to peacefully sleep past sunrise. I don't quite remember when the shitty habit started; it might've been when Rick used to spend the night at my apartment.

I turned the water on as hot as I could bear it and let the liquid bullets pound into my back. Water rolled over my cheeks and dripped off my nose. Steam rose from my toes and after rinsing the conditioner from my black hair, I shut off the shower and blindly groped for one of my beige towels. Drying off and running a wide toothed comb through my wet hair, I walked back to my room naked, ruffling my head with the towel in the attempt to get rid of the moisture. I flung open my drawers, digging around for the proper underwear and bra. I dropped the towel on the ground and absently picked up the deodorant on top of the chest of drawers. When I finished rubbing the falsely scented white stick on my armpits, I pushed the cap back on and tossed it on the bed. Wild freesia my ass.

I slipped on a pair of jeans and a three-quarter sleeve, black, loose neck turtleneck. I slid my mirror closet door shut and stared at my reflection for a few moments. I ran my fingers through the wet tangles of my hair one more time before something caught my eye. I straightened, tensing. I blinked and whatever I thought I had seen on my fire escape disappeared. I turned around to stare at the window. A few weeks ago, my blinds had broken and I kept putting off purchasing the replacements.

I made a mental note to myself to get blinds when I went fabric shopping.

Tucking the folder under my arm and slinging my purse over my shoulder, I locked my apartment door and headed down the stairs. I didn't live that far up in the complex, only the second floor and walking down two flights of stairs would help me more than hurt me. Besides, my thick thighs needed the exercise. I hailed a taxi and slid inside, naming my destination. The drive was relatively quiet and I spent my time leafing through the pictures again, mulling over different fabrics in my brain. I had until Sunday, Sunday, to sew a three piece suit, leather gloves and a lined, purple trench coat. God help me.

After paying the cabbie, sifting through the warehouse of fabric and arguing down the prices in Korean to the little old man who owned the place, I left with a grin, my arms weighed down with the bags of silk and cotton. I flagged another cab and headed off to work; it was a little past eight when I arrived. Not that it was a big deal or anything. Business was typically slow. I hastily opened shop and dug through the bins of patterns to find what I was looking for. I paused, my hand hovering over the fabric scissors. I couldn't cut the patterns without the man's measurements. God damn it. I bit my lip, a nervous habit my father always admonished me for.

Reaching for the folder, I paused, a shiver sliding up my spine like a snake. I turned my head and looked out the glass door of the shop. Someone stood across the street. I squinted, trying to get a better look at the person. They turned and walked away. I swallowed and tried to shake off the eeriness that settled in the pit of my stomach. Opening the folder, I shifted the papers around and was relieved to find some measurements scrawled on the inner back flap of the folder. I cut the appropriate patterns and spread them out on the long cutting table.

I worked until three before setting the half finished collared shirt down. I had cut out the pieces for the pants and finished the vest leaving the buttons off to hand stitch at home. I had been lucky to find the bizarre shade of green in the silk aisle of the fabric warehouse. It was the closest match I could find to my client's specifications. The shirt itself was patterned, as he requested. I discovered a decorative hexagon cloth of a color I couldn't quite place. It was a mix of blue and purple with iridescent thread. I suspected the clothes were for a costume and so I had tried my best to find interesting fabric. I eyed the silk I purchased for the tie. It held a chaotic clash of greens, with an obscuring, indefinable pattern, something I hoped the client would appreciate.

I didn't even know the client's name. I pursed my lips. It felt a bit awkward, referring to the man as "the client" or, even more creatively, "the man". I scoffed. Rolling my shoulders and hearing the successful crack of tension disappearing, I stood and stretched up. I sighed and dug around for the phone. I dialed Mr. Burns' cell phone and cradled the phone in my neck, leaving my hands free to dig through the mini-fridge. He picked up on the fourth ring.

"Hello?" He sounded brighter than normal.

"Hi, Mr. Burns, it's Kimberly."

"Hi, Kimberly. How are things at the shop?"

"Oh, well, I'm just calling to let you know that we got a client right before I closed yesterday."

"Really? That's good to hear." I straightened, leftover rice and a little jar of kimchi in hand.

"How's your wife doing?" I lightly kicked the door shut and it closed with a suctioned pop.

"Better. She's doing better."

"That's good." The conversation was rather empty, with semi-false pleasantries. I liked Mr. Burns and all, but I felt, at times, that the courtesy he offered me was a little fictitious. When I hung up the phone, I mixed a little more kimchi into my rice, stirring it around with the plastic spoon. The store bought kimchi was never as good as my mom's. The phone rang, a ridiculously annoying, electronic version of one of Beethoven's lesser-known symphonies. Irritated, I answered.

"This is Burns' Tailoring." The other end was oddly quiet. I listened intently, "Hello?" I picked up the sound of light, controlled breathing. "Hello?" I rolled my eyes and hung up, frustrated. It wasn't the first time it had happened and I was sure it wouldn't be the last.

I took the shirt and the vest home with me when I left the shop around nine thirty. I pulled the steel curtains down and locked the door, shivering as the cool air seeped through my turtleneck. It was dark with only the street lamps lighting the sidewalk as I made my way to a busier part of Gotham. I gripped my keys, the brown paper bag with the clothes and my purse slung over my shoulder. I clenched and unclenched my free hand. A second set of footsteps fell into my earshot. I turned my head slightly, spying a man of average height. He passed under a lamppost and I saw a gun glint in the light. My heart almost stopped. I walked a little faster. His pace increased. I broke into a run, my feet slapping the pavement like a death drum.

"Get back here!" I heard him shout. He fired and I felt the bullet whizz past my left shoulder. "I said-" Something cut him off and he screamed. I stopped and looked back to see his kicking feet as he was dragged into an alley. I heard him struggling, pleading with someone. Menacing, inane laughter answered him and I heard a noise I had grown accustomed to in med school; a blade being pulled across taut flesh. I ran as fast as I could to the livelier part of Gotham.

I screamed for a taxi, jumping into the first one that pulled over. He began to drive and I felt my heart slamming into my ribcage. My breathing was spastic and erratic, my head spinning. The cabbie glanced at me from his rearview mirror.

"You alright, sweetheart?" He dropped his 'r's; a Boston man. I nodded,

"Just- just take me to twenty-three fifty on the corner of Irving and Forty-Seventh." He merely nodded and we drove in silence. Had it been one of Bert's men? What would happen to me if it were? Would his death be added to my debt? The driver barely stopped the car in front of my apartment when I opened my purse. I tossed him a little extra, it didn't matter. I didn't care. I just wanted to curl up on my couch. I flung the lobby doors open and raced up the stairs, slamming my door shut. I bolted it, collapsing against the thick wood and sucking in air as quickly as I could. My lungs burned a little and my legs quaked. I had run like that since high school P.E. Still a little shaky, I kicked my shoes off and sat on my couch. As I pulled out the shirt and vest to sew on their respective buttons, I remembered that I had failed to purchase any blinds.

I apologize if this chapter is rather short, they'll get longer.

Reviews are Love,

The Author.