The aroma of food gradually spread through the small space. The old butler's cooking was as good as ever, as though it had brought a hint of warmth to the dark, damp Batcave.
Joker clutched his hair, elbows propped on the table as he laughed without stopping. It was as if he had heard another hilarious joke from Batwoman.
"Here we go again, here we go again. This justice of yours that's as fake as hypocrisy. I tore open your wounds, killed your fiancée, and you still let me live in your house and feed me dinner. You're just too kind. Thank Martha for giving birth to such a wonderful son, hahahaha."
Batwoman remained seated in the darkness, her head tilted slightly, one arm supporting her cheek against the chair's armrest. "..."
"Honestly, if I didn't know you as well as I do, everyone else would definitely think you were the world's biggest hypocrite. Your no-killing rule, your coldheartedness—it all looks like an act. But I know this is who you are. Sometimes living hurts more than dying, and darkness is the final destination, right?"
As Joker spoke, he smiled as he picked up his knife and fork, punctured the fried egg to play with it, then lowered his whole face over the plate and licked the runny yolk.
Then he shook his head, twisted his mouth, and spat to the side.
The old butler's food was excellent, but it didn't taste like bat. He didn't like it.
Batwoman did not react at all to his wasting food, as though she had not seen it. Joker put on an aggrieved expression, wriggled in his chair a few times, then suddenly seemed to think of something.
"Bat, you actually want me dead, don't you? But I can't die at your hands