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*watches silently*

You've got a real art form going there, toots.

Low, quiet tones. Almost a growl.

It's fun.

Naughty child. What would your mother say?

He's back.

Still deciding whether I should kill him myself.

Looks like loads of fun!

It's practice.

*looks on gleefully*

A thing of beauty!

This time, she's dead serious, no giggling, no attempt to even act like the Joker.

I'll burn the city to the ground.

*his sick grin gets wider*

And why shouldn't you? This place could sure use it!

It'll be fun, watching it burn.

Exactly! That's the whole point... what I've been trying to get across to the Bat and all the other too-serious folks of Gotham!

The Bat...

Yes. Maybe I should hunt him down. That'd feel good. Giving him a couple of punches, getting a couple of punches. Yess.. That'd feel very good.

Ooh, now you're talking!

Maybe something... stronger than a couple of punches might be in order...? Redden up the Bat-suit with some nice cuts from a blade, perhaps?

Yes...

Blood. I probably can't kill him... but I can try.

That'd feel good. Hell, I know I can't win that way. Close combat. But who gives a damn.. A laugh, unsteady, unstable. Isn't like he'll kill me!

That's the spirit! As long as he suffers... it's all good! *cackles*

I don't even care if he suffers. This isn't about him. Not this time.

It'll just be practice.

Practice, maybe - but it can still be fun!

What I'm practicing for will be more fun.

A smirk. Do you know what the ultimate sin is? The worst crime against nature? The last step to a soul's anarchy? She drew steadily near, grinning wide, a dangerous expression.

Complete destruction of - everything perhaps? Or are we talking something a little more personal and symbolic?

Complete destruction leaves nothing. Not order, not anarchy.

No.. Something much more personal and very symbolic. Patricide.

Try it.

...

I have just the game for you, Mr. Dent.

*cackles* Patricide? Sounds a very fun little game indeed!

Oh, this game is wonderful.

Pulls out an old fashioned revolver. Empties the barrel into her hand and then loads three of the six holes, alternating between loaded and not, then clicks the barrel back into place.

Chance. Fifty-fifty. Russian roulette.

Sound fun, Mr. Dent?

*stares at her, not flinching*

You know how I feel about luck. I wouldn't call it fun - that's something of your own making. If you actually understood anything about me - you wouldn't think of it as fun either.

*He has, however, always been unable to resist it - the flip of a coin, the idea that his fate rests on the odds*

But if it makes you happy, Duela -

*His tone is overly familiar - and he doesn't stop holding her gaze the entire time. There's a lot in his look - in his good eye, at least - something akin to fatherly concern - the need to tell her things he hasn't been able to, frustration, regret, but also the inability to back down from testing fate*

Even as he lectured her on luck not being fun, her hand shook. Hesitation, however brief, made her flex her fingers as he touched the barrel again. However, her eyes narrowed, and she spun the barrel.

She bit at her lip, a habit of uncertainty learned from her mother. She aimed the gun, not about to let herself back down either. She would leave it in Fate's hand, even if she always scoffed at anyone who mentioned Fate or luck.

She pulled the trigger... and was rewarded with a click... and nothing more. An empty spot.

She lowered the gun, perhaps with a quiver of her hand. Her voice was cool, detached, betraying very little.

Fortune smiles.

*Still, he does not flinch*

Apparently.