The Art of a Good Insult

Warning: This log contains scenes of graphic violence

"I'm gonna beat you to oblivion, you stupid fucking whore!"

The bellow silenced the entirety of the Narrows within hearing distance and the sobbing scream that followed it sent a shiver through the other working girls on that strip. A pair of mismatched eyes stared out of the shadows, their attention now fixed on the pimp who was already slapping the girl around.

The pimp grabbed his girl's hair and pulled, tearing out a chunk and using what little remained attached to her scalp to throw her like a discarded rag doll against the wall of a building. "You're gonna learn not to screw with me."

A smirk grew on the Fool's face as he strolled out nonchalantly and propped himself next to the wretched remains of the prostitute. "And there I thought screwing was the whole object of the exercise," he mused ruefully, his odd eyes dancing merrily.

Bobby McArthur snarled at the freak before him. Damn he hated Gothem sometimes with all of its fucked up pricks in make up and costumes. This one almost had the look of the Joker about him. Not that Bobby would have messed with the Joker, that freak was really psycho, but he'd heard that the king of clowns had been blown away by the Bat.

"Get lost, skull face," Bobby growled.

Fool's eyes practically lit up as he rubbed his hands together. "Witty repartee," he sighed happily. "Come now, you must be capable of more elegant jibes than that."

What the fuck was the freak talking about? "Halloween ain't for another month yet, trick-or-treat boy, so why don't you go play with yourself somewhere else."

"Better!" Fool cheered. "My-my, so much more than I expected from the vermin that infests my streets." As his smirk turned into a mocking grimace, he added, "But you should perhaps try using insults of more than one syllable." In a flash his hands wrapped around Bobby's jacket front, lifting the pimp off of his feet and bringing him nose to nose with the Fool. "My personal favourites are Calcium Deficiency or Danse Macabre or Grim Reaper." With one massive thrust, he threw the man half way across the street, stalking over to peer down at his curled form. "Use a little imagination, man."

Bobby blinked up at the freak. He was strong, much stronger than Bobby, but Bobby had a secret weapon. In one smooth move, he pulled his gun out and pointed it at the freak. "Fuck you," he snarled as he started to squeaze the trigger.

The glare remained fixed on Fool's features for barely a few seconds before his face cracked into a bright grin and he burst into fits of peeling, hysterical laughter.

Totally stumped by the reaction, Bobby hesitated just long enough for Fool's quick reflexes to snatch the gun from his hands and toss it to land uselessly on the sidewalk several yards away. Crouching down, Fool poked the pimp with a long, bony finger.

"Now that wasn't very nice, was it?" he mused cheerfully. "Little boys should learn not to point nasty guns at the Fool." His hands snapped out and wrapped themselves around Bobby's. He flipped them forward, breaking Bobby's fingers back flush with his hands.

Bobby screamed high and loud, tears already gathering in his eyes. "What the fuck d'you want, freak!"

"Oh now," Fool sighed as he stood and dusted off his suit. "You've gone and disappointed me. I though we were being intellectually stimulating with our insults." He tutted under his breath, almost turning away in dismissal of the softly crying pimp.

Cradling his tortured fingers, Bobby coughed and spat out on the road. "I hope the Bat gets you," he snarled.

Fool paused halfway across the street. Slowly, he turned back to Bobby, his head tilted to the side and a lop-sided smile on his face. "Shall we give him something to find?" he asked in a sing-song voice. "The Bat is coming to get me!" he sang, almost skipping back to where Bobby cowered away from him.

Kneeling down next to the pimp, Fool stroked the man's cheek softly. "I think I shall give you a one-to-one tutorial on insultng the Fool." His eyes grew wide and wild as he leaned forward and said in his high-pitched screech, "Such a pretty face, I think I want it!" In one fast, strong movement, his fingers shot out, dug into the side of Bobby's face and pulled.

The sound of tearing flesh was drowned out by one sad little pimp's dying, blood filled scream. Fool let out a whoop of victory as he rose to his feet and tossed the flap of skin over his shoulder. He turned away from the writhing, whimpering, gurgling piece of meat and strutted toward the prostitute who stared at him in abject fear.

"What have we hear?" he said in a conversational tone. "Some little whore whose total incapacity to look after her own affairs led her to giving away a part of her earnings to that pile of rotting flesh?" He grabbed her by the neck and slammed her into the wall. "A faithless female whose treachery to her master made her deceive and cheat him from what was rightfully his?" Again he rammed her into the concrete. He pushed his nose against hers and snarled. "An acid junky, college flunky, dirty puppy, dirty bastard." With one last thrust, he whacked her head into the wall and dropped her unconscious form onto the sidewalk.

"Learn to be less of an imbecile next time," he said airily as he waltzed away.