Gotham: Uptown Uptown was once the neighborhood in which to live in Gotham City, but that position has been usurped by Bristol and Neville. It has not deteriorated as much as it has become socially mixed. You can find the professional, the factory worker, the small town shop owner, the very rich, and the rather weird, all living in Uptown. Residential hotels that charge several thousand dollars a month in rent are next to free legal clinics, and a Porche 911 Turbo will often be found parked next to a Dodge Omni. Uptown is a very tolerant neighborhood, and the mix of people here makes it the most vibrant of Gotham's neighborhoods. At least, in the opinion of Uptowners, that is. Obvious exits: Robinson Park Charon Business District Little Stockton Glendale Joker(#1012Pwfces) Six foot four, maybe five, this tall thin man with the chalk-white skin and the blood-red lips cannot be ignored. His hair is stunted and short, but growing out in green waves into a sort of proto-pompadour. His hands are long, and his fingernails are an equally green color. A bandage is attached expertly to the back of his neck. Blue eyes sparkling with some unguessable mirth stare our of his long, thin, and wholly unmistakable face. His appearance and burbling, ever-changing, musical voice give him a de mented sort of charisma, holding the attention of onlookers with the casualness of the seasoned performer or the long-stalking and now suddenly-visible predator. At present, he is wearing a bizarre bright purple and bright blue suit, the coat long, the vest short, revealing the ruffled lime-green shirtfront beneath, and the drooping ribbon bow tie beneath the collar is tied in a jaunty spiral knot. Joker looked you over. It probably was a posh apartment a few weeks ago...but the place has been allowed to run down (a spatter of high-velocity blood spray across the wall tells part of the story why). The Joker is going over complicated purple-crayon plans of some kind with uncomprehending thugs, who are smiling broadly, more out of habit than out of understanding. "...and THAT's when the cream pies go off. Your job is to fasten it to his head with the rubber bands so that they smother. Got it? Okay. Yes. By that time, the repainting should be done and..." In the corner of the room, near what's left of TV cabinet, the shadows thicken, spreading upwards over the wall like ink soaking into cotton. Gradually, they gather themselves into a human- shape, then become three- dimensional. As the shadowform steps away from the wall it resolves itself into The Shade. Shade A tall, slender gentleman of aristocratic bearing, the Shade could easily have stepped right out of a Dickens Novel. He is clad entirely in black: Top hat, frock coat, trousers, spit- polished shoes, gloves and a pair of smoked- glass spectacles. The Shade's features are regular, if unspectacular: the nose a little large, the chin a little weak, but the glitter of his blue eyes bespeaks education and wit. The Shade moves with a quiet dignity. He carries a cane topped with a stylised eagle's head in his right hand, but from the fluidity with which he moves this appears to be pure affectation. The thugs don't notice at first, but suddenly one of them looks up and goes for a gun inside his suit, cursing. "Look out! Jimmy!" From the front hall, another man in an ill-fitting suit (do they all shop at the same place?) emerges, gun already in hand, eyes searching the room. The Joker's eyes narrow, then widen in surprise. "Not the -usual- occupant of shadows in this town." he burbles softly. The Shade sweeps his hat off his head and steps forward, bowing flamboyantly... utterly unruffled by the thugs' hostile response. The guns tremble, extended at Shade's head from a half-dozen directions. There's no sound from them or their wielders. Obviously this isn't something they're used to. The Joker now looks bored. "Oh, it's just a hallucination. Heave it out the window, or shoot it and drag it out the door. Only a side effect of being off medication for so long." But nobody acts immediately. The Shade tucks his hat under one arm. "I beg to differ," he says, smiling a crooked little smile. One of the brighter-looking men (he has glasses, at least), says "How can we be seeing him if he's a hallucination?" The Joker waves his hand dismissively. "Well -you're- off medication, too, aren't you?" Then he turns back to Shade. "Look if you're here to collect against Prohibition, you're two hundred years late, daylight savings time. Go find your funeral or we'll make one for you. Shoo. I'm busy." The Shade says "Whilst certainly a denizen of the shadows, I am rather more... corporeal... than most would expect. Or desire, for that matter. But I digress."I am The Shade, and I think you will find it rewarding to put aside your business for the moment." The Shade deposits his hat on the arm of a chair and leans his cane jauntily against his shoulder. Joker puts his spindly arms on the table on either side of him, leaning vertiginously over it, his grin easing outwards, twisting into a leer. "If I put aside business, I have to take up pleasure. And that's a lot funnier than being pushed through a glass window, smashing your head against the eaves and falling two stories onto asphalt , then being run over. Are you -sure- you won't take the window?" The thugs' eyes flick away from the Shade momentarily. A few seem to be sufficiently reflective to wonder how their lives came to involve having the Joker somewhere behind them. The Shade chuckles with genuine mirth. "Trust me, my friend, I've suffered worse and come to no harm. The pleasure of your company would be rather more amusing, I dare say." Joker says dully, "Friend." His grin twists back around into a sour look. "I don't -remember- you. Go ahead. Sit down." He gestures at the chair the Shade just hung his hat on. "Make it quick." Without so much as glancing downwards, The Shade casually plucks the Whoopee- cushion from the battered chair seats himself gracefully, dropping it onto the floor beside of him. "Thank you, my good man. Now, I must admit, I have the advantage of you. You do not, indeed, remember me, because we have never met. I have already introduced myself..." he gives the Joker a quick once- over, "And I think there can be little doubt as to your own identity. "We have not met before, my good man, but I come to you as a friend. With a friendly proposition." The Shade lays the cane across his lap and cocks his head, one eyebrow raised expectantly. Joker tilts his head quizzically. "Funny." he says. "I thought that was the breakaway chair. Well, come on, give me the proposition and scram. I figured you weren't here to see the late Mr. Amberson. I had to kill all his friends, family and associates to get this place free and clear." The Shade grins. "No, I have little interest in Mr. Amberson and his associates. I have come to you with what, in common parlance, is called a Grand Scheme. I'm certain you're familiar with the concept." Joker nods. "I doubt it's particularly grand." he says sardonically. "But do your best." The Shade laughs. "I'm certain it's a trifling affair compared to your own masterpieces, but nonetheless... there's something _cosy_ about the more modest plots, don't you think?"My proposition is this: I will furnish you with a variety of superhumans and their associates. You may then proceed to harass with whatever methods you deem most approrpiate. My only conditions are thare you do so at a time and place of my choosing." Joker raises an eyebrow. "Furnish?" he says. "What is this, pro wrestling? Which ones? Big names?" He waves his hands and says, sarcasm dripping from his voice, "Stars?" The Shade smiles a small, twisted little smile. "If you so desire, yes. Stars." Joker's eyes narrow. "And how do I know you can get the genuine article, and this isn't some...sting from hell designed to drag me down there early?" The Shade looks genuinely offended. "Come, now. Do I strike you as some sort of petty fraud or con man? I am an artist, sir, and I do not work with inferior materials." Joker waves a hand dismissively. "Bah!" he says. "You wouldn't know art if it slit your throat." Then he pauses. "What about now? Here? You don't have to bring me anyone -special-...just someone to show you can do it. Hm? Or are you just going to be..." Again his voice aches with contempt. "...mysterious?" The Shade shakes his head and smiles. "I have had my throat slit on more than one ocassion, and I wouldn't dignify any of them with the title of 'Art'. But I did not come here to discuss Art with you, I came here to cement a bargain."I came here empty handed, for I am not some door to door salesman. If you think my behavior mysterious, that is entirely your own problem: that you cannot fathom the depths of my soul if of no concern to me." Joker pounds his pale fist on the table. Multicolored crayons pop up into the air momentarily. "Of course you're empty handed! I'm telling you to -go get someone-. What do you think of that? I'll even tell you where he lives. Make it back here in half an hour and I'm in." Joker grins. "Grand schemes are no good without the little detail of being able to press the little red candylike button." The Shade looks up at the ceiling wearily, then sighs and looks back. "Alright. Describe the individual and name his street address." You say "Frederico 'Banananose' Cataglia. 1576 N. Albernon Lane. Here's a picture of him." Joker hands a police surveillance photo across the table. Gee, a crooked Gotham cop. Go figure. The Shade takes the photo and rises from his seat. He glances at it,t hen pockets it. "I suppose I should be glad you selected an individual within the United States. I do _so_ hate venturing to other climates without an appropriate wardrobe." The Shade scoops up his hat and draws his cane close to him. "I'll be right back. Please, don't run away while I'm gone." Shadows envelope his form and then fray to nothing. The Shade has vanished. Joker looks at the incredulous thugs. "Hey, it might work! Don't knock it 'til you try it!" About thirty seconds later The Shade's form congeals fromt he shadows. He has an enormous smile on his face. 'Banananose' is nowhere to be seen. Joker looks around. "Who are you, H. G. Wells? Guess you couldn't cut the mustard, eh?" The Shade keeps smiling. Gesturing grandly with the pommel of his cane, a large black vortex appears before him and to his left. A human form, covered with sticky black shadow- stuff vomits from within the swirling mass of shadow. The shadow-stuff melts away in a matter of seconds, revealing the huddled, wide- eyed form of Frederico 'Banananose' Cataglia' lying prone at The Shade's feet. 'Banananose''s hands have been fastened behind him by a pair of ebony handcuffs. Joker gives a golf clap and clasps his hands together. "An early Christmas present! How marvelous! Take him in the back an unwrap him, boys, while I talk to Santa out here." The manacles dissolves as Joker's thugs manhandle Cataglia out of the room. "Santa Claus? My word, theat's an epithet I've never had levelled at me before," he says. The thugs drift past the Joker carrying the now more-terrified Cataglia towards the back room. His smile slices across the air between the Joker and the Shade, splitting the men drifting into the next room. "Where? When? I'm in. Can I have -anyone- I want? How many?" The Shade says "You may have anyone you like, and as many as you like... within reason, of course. I would be hard pressed to accomodate an entire city."" Joker's grin broadens out of the realm of the merely obscene into the realm of the terrifyingly vicious. "That's just -fab-." he gushes. The Shade smiles. "I thought you'd appreciate it. Have you any tentative selections?" (OOC) The Shade says, "Certainly. You are ICly quite welcome to change your mind at any point...." (OOC) Joker nods. "Gotcha. But I ICly wouldn't. Plus I would probably come up with bizarre plans and stuff. Another scene this weekend, hopefully." (OOC) The Shade says, "Excellent. I hope to hold a meeting before I begin abducting people..." (OOC) Joker says, "Great!"