Jack Napier (____jokesonyou) wrote,
Jack Napier

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Mandatory first post by the Mun


This is a mandatory first post by the Mun (Marie). Jack is not available at present. :X Any questions regarding Jack can be directed at me on AIM or in the comments of this first entry. All questions will be answered promptly and with the most clarity that is available, depending on the time.

Jack usually does not let Marie sleep much.

In any case, below is the history of Jack Napier, the Clown Prince of Crime, as well as the writing sample that was submitted with his application. I realize no one really wants to read this, but I thought it would be better than posting it on his info page.

In reference to his info page...he chooses to procrastinate concerning that.

Finally, if you have any questions concerning the "flotation device" which saves his life, feel free to ask. It really does have a meaning.

Thank you for your attention,
-Marie, speaking on behalf of Jack Napier

Jack Napier, born and raised in the good ol’ south, to an alcoholic father and a negligent mother, developed a disdain for life and people at an early age. To parents who loved Jim Bean and Lucy re-runs more than their own flesh and blood, Jack was little more than a tax write-off; a way for them to save a little extra cash, so they could buy a little extra booze.

As he grew, Jack began to wonder less-and-less about why his parents didn’t love him like other parents loved their children. Instead of praises, he received silence. In place of hugs, he got a fist. He’d come to accept the fact that his parents weren’t normal parents. Hell, he was far from normal himself. His teachers would send letters home about how “sharp and witty” Jack was, how “on the ball” and “extremely entertaining” the class found him. He didn’t receive attention at home, but he got tons from school. Being the “class-clown”, it seemed, had its perks. If his parents wouldn’t pay him attention, well, then screw them. He could get it some place else.

When his parents took him to the circus for being on “good behavior”, Jack became slightly frazzled. The parents that had never rewarded him, never acknowledged him, and never accepted him were taking him out, in public, to a family-friendly environment. Something was definitely wrong. Still, Jack decided to enjoy himself while he could, and thoroughly for that matter. The trapeze artists, the elephants, and the clowns especially made him happier than he could’ve ever dreamed possible. Seeing his mother smile and hearing his father laugh for what seemed the first time was a prize he cherished. Even if he received the beating of his life when he got home, even if he woke up to find it just a dream, he didn’t care. For the first time in his life, Jack Napier felt love.

The next day, when his parents acted as if nothing had happened, Jack also felt the first pains of regret. He was told, quite indifferently, that he’d help get his father a promotion at work by making him seem more of a “family man”. The thanks he received was an afternoon free of bruises.

There was never a man more tortured by words. Jack seemed to just break down after that. He was still a clown in class, but he became more of a bully. Attention was golden, but power was more. With power he could stop others from hurting him. With power he could take life more seriously. Maybe if people were afraid of him, they wouldn’t joke around with his life.

At age 15, he was arrested for armed assault and this was just the first of several crimes. A psychological test showed he was “emotionally distraught”, and yet, “very sharp”. He closed himself off from the world, but still kept in contact with it through a “warped sense of humor”. It wasn’t long after that Jack made acquaintances with Carl Grissom, a high-rolling, very powerful crime lord. Carl offered Jack a position and a path.

When he’d proved himself competent and loyal, Jack became Carl Grissom’s right-hand man. His name struck a chord, in fact, it became synonymous with fear. Even the District Attorney, Harvey Dent, was after his head. And this was fine with him for a while, really. He had respect, he had power. He had what he’d always craved.

This didn’t last long.

In the eyes of the people around him, he was nothing more than a powerful lackey. The go-to boy that Carl had to do all his dirty work. This was no where near good enough for Jack. He gradually started to expand his power; first, he organized himself a lot of goons that’d be more loyal than their paychecks, and then he stole Carl’s girlfriend.

Needless to say, that didn’t go over well.

When he was sent on a mission to destroy files that had already been removed, Jack was faced with betrayal on the grandest level. The saying, “turnabout is fair play” figuratively smacked him in the face, and as the cops closed in around him and justice choked him through the grip of the Bat, Jack recollected on life.

As he plummeted into a giant vat of acid, Jack thought of the circus, of clowns, and of a man he could never get to laugh.

After recovering from a gruesome (and cheap) surgery, Jack decided it was time to reinvent his life. He’d play his trump card, the ace up his sleeve: the joker.

But the Bat, more determined than ever, stopped him in his tracks. Just as things were getting good for him, just when he was getting all the attention and power back, things were shoved back in his face. Probably what he found worse about Batman was the fact that, like his father, he couldn’t get him to laugh.

And that Batman seemed to make him continuously fall from high places. And to his alleged death, for that matter.

But Jack Napier didn’t die from that unbelievable fall. Wearing a life-preserving jacket and a flotation device was inevitably what saved his life. However, every bone in his body was shattered upon impact, including the back of his skull. He has remained in critical condition at a private wing in Arkham for over a year and a half, just healing his wounds. No one has been allowed in or out, the press is not aware of his situation, and he honestly hasn’t been able to talk to anyone in a very long while. Only recently has he healed enough to be moved onto the bottom floor of Arkham; the maximum security wing with his own cell.

Being bedridden for over a year and a half has made him a little more than antsy. He’s had a great deal of time to think things over, get angrier, and go a little more insane. The future he craves now is freedom.

The Joker calls for revenge.

Jack Napier had learned several things over the past year and a half. Confined to a plaster prison, itchy and stifling, and constantly under surveillance, he had time to ponder about the idiosyncrasies of the world; how unfair life was; how much he fucking hated karma and the shape of a bat that it just loved to take.

Revelation #1 -- the walls of a hospital room were white for one specific reason: to drive a person fucking crazy, thereby encouraging them to regain all their strength faster so they could get the hell out of the fucking room. Truth be told, Jack loved the color -- on his face. But he had started to really despise being trapped in one position, staring at a blank wall, just begging to be painted. Then he remembered what happened the last time he painted anything and decided he would rather just blow up the entire room.

Revelation #2 – people took advantage of recovering criminals trapped in hospital beds and doped up on morphine. If there was one thing Jack would never do after getting out of this godforsaken hospital, it was do painkillers. His responses were limited, as was his ability to retain information. Doctors took his slurred calls for water as a cry of pain and put him on more medicine, psychoanalysists noted his sluggish head rolls as confessions to crimes he’d never committed. When he could finally move again, Jack planned on kidnapping everyone here, gagging them and skewing their strangled responses to fit whatever desires he wanted. Because, fuck – they deserved it.

Revelation #3 – he was not in a hospital, he was in a secure wing of Arkham. Jack Napier had never been more pissed in all his years of recovery. The fact that he’d been lied to for a majority of his time here was one thing, but the fact that they’d planned to throw him immediately into a cell as soon as he was well enough just burned him to no end. The day he got his full-body cast off, he used his newly healed hand to give everyone in the room the bird. When he thought about it later, it was funny in an ironic sort-of way.

Final Revelation – everything was Batman’s fault; that fucker just wouldn’t laugh. More than Jack blamed him for being dropped in a vat of acid, more than having his skin bleached, more than having his art critiqued, his goons pulverized, his woman stolen from him, and his body shattered to pieces, Jack blamed the Bat for never recognizing him as the funniest (and most handsome) man that his archenemy had ever faced; for never recognizing him. So as they removed his final casts and put him in his new cell, complete with fully functional bullet-proof glass front and complimentary toilet in the corner, Jack decided, once and for all, that he was not only going to destroy the occupants of the hospital and Batman – he was going to destroy everything important to him as well. And that meant that Gotham had to go.

On his second day in confinement, he noticed a blonde dressed in a white coat that he’d never seen before. A shrink? He moved closer to the glass to get a better look at her. Indeed. A soft chuckle left his mouth as he noticed her enter another cell, gears turning in his mind, excitement bubbling in his chest. By the time he’d returned to his bed, he had broken out in a mad cackle and guards were shouting for him to shut-up.

His laughter lulled down and then, “Oh, Batsy. You’ll be seeing me sooner than planned.”
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