Teeth grit as eyes narrow at the Clown Prince of Gotham. His words do nothing, Dick’s never been an imitation kind of man. Everything is straight forward from his own imagination.
”Good thing I don’t take clothing advice from a clown. You know me. Mister Imaginative. Or creative. I forgot. I have a lot of nickname, y’know.”
But what did flattery have to do with anything? He wasn’t trying to impress Joker. Never did. Just in, out, Arkham. The cycle of their lives. Or, mainly, Batman’s.
”No, you take advise from a bat. At least a clown’s a man behind the make up, who’s nuttier now Doc’ Dolittle? Heh, heh, heh..” Sharply he quipped, pulling up a chair and turning it so the spine faced Blüdhaven’s protector.
”To clear the bewilderment from your eyes, sonny boy,” leaning back he had reached into his coat pocket to pull out a pack of cigarettes, “the whole ‘flattery’ bit of what I said earlier…
”Wasn’t aimed towards me, kiddo.” Repeatedly tapping the bottom of the carton before pulling out one to wedge between his marred lips.
”Thought you Tights were supposed to be super-intuitive and what not?” Like a mythical dragon, he pushes smoke out of his nostrils while sporting a grin that proved antithetical to the scowl Dick wore sourly.
”Well, maybe intuition was never your strong suit…”
|Mistah Mango's dah name, mah rheumy compadre. Care to partake on mah mango tree demolition adventures?|
”I’m engaging in conversation with a talking Koala Bear. Wonder how many dosages they upped my meds back in Arkham when sneaking it into my lasagna. Heh.
Another Brian Bolland Joker - again from the time of The Killing Joke - from 1988’s Speakeasy #24.
”You’ve decided to flaunt the feathers again, huh? Good for you, champ. Good for you. Never be ashamed for who you are and never imitate anybody else. No matter how flattering you may think it is.
”Flattery, despite what you might think, won’t get you everywhere.”