"What, no clinking glass bottles? I'm disappointed."
It hadn't taken long to triangulate the source of the broadcast; it had taken a hell of a lot longer to get there and try to prep for what was sure to be a hellish fight. Wash had run into Dave and Barry along the way, and they'd all figured that teamwork was going to work a lot better than the successive one-on-one Stormtrooper method.
Fifteen minutes of prep (turns out speedsters are dead useful when they actually want to work - thanks, Barry) had turned up an empty refrigerator and several lengths of chain forcibly taken from several members of the Joker's gang who probably still didn't know what had hit them. They couldn't bring the fridge to the Joker; they'd have to bring him to the fridge somehow. That meant that the plan included goading an unstable madman into following them for a distance until they could grab him and fridge him.
Well, if there's one thing Wash is really good at, it's pissing people off.
"You know," he continues, walking towards the photo-negative Joker with a calm, measured, purposefully arrogant step, "we have stories about you where I'm from. Turns out you're a joke, and I'm not talking Bill Engvall, Chris Rock, actual high quality comedy joke. No, you're open mic night at a backwater midwest college town, where if you get a laugh, it's out of pity." Hit him where it hurts - right in his sense of humor. "Sure, you scare a few people, cause some damage, and you might even kill someone if you get lucky, but you always lose. That never changes. And hell, you said it yourself: you're only the opening act, and that's all you'll ever be."
Come on, Joker. Jump him. Let's get this party started.
no subject
It hadn't taken long to triangulate the source of the broadcast; it had taken a hell of a lot longer to get there and try to prep for what was sure to be a hellish fight. Wash had run into Dave and Barry along the way, and they'd all figured that teamwork was going to work a lot better than the successive one-on-one Stormtrooper method.
Fifteen minutes of prep (turns out speedsters are dead useful when they actually want to work - thanks, Barry) had turned up an empty refrigerator and several lengths of chain forcibly taken from several members of the Joker's gang who probably still didn't know what had hit them. They couldn't bring the fridge to the Joker; they'd have to bring him to the fridge somehow. That meant that the plan included goading an unstable madman into following them for a distance until they could grab him and fridge him.
Well, if there's one thing Wash is really good at, it's pissing people off.
"You know," he continues, walking towards the photo-negative Joker with a calm, measured, purposefully arrogant step, "we have stories about you where I'm from. Turns out you're a joke, and I'm not talking Bill Engvall, Chris Rock, actual high quality comedy joke. No, you're open mic night at a backwater midwest college town, where if you get a laugh, it's out of pity." Hit him where it hurts - right in his sense of humor. "Sure, you scare a few people, cause some damage, and you might even kill someone if you get lucky, but you always lose. That never changes. And hell, you said it yourself: you're only the opening act, and that's all you'll ever be."
Come on, Joker. Jump him. Let's get this party started.