My Messed-up Adventure in Gotham City by Emily
Hello self-insertion fic! Okay folks, maybe you don't know, but I tend to wander/babble when I write. But it's fun to read, so enjoy! I do have a plot, eventually.
I apologize to anyone whose name or works appears in this piece. I don't own any of it, especially not Batman. So pleeeeeeeeeeease don't sue.
I hate computers. If it weren't for the damn things I never would have gotten into all that trouble. Nuff foreshadowing for you folks? Good. Well, maybe it wasn't all my computer's fault; after all, it was my cat that hit the buttons. Yes, I know that makes no sense at all. ANYway,
I was cruising around fanfiction.net, looking for some good fics. That's the purpose of the site, and it does an admirable job of it, too (shameless plug!). I like cartoons: Sailor Moon, Daria, South Park, Batman, X-men, you get the picture. I was wandering, finding a couple good ones, writing reviews, that sort of thing. So my cat, feline numbskull that he is-- no wait, he's not a he any more. A visit to the vet and now he's an it, and just wishes it had a social life. But he/it's bored, having nothing else to do (think about that for a second) and decided to get into some Batman, too. It walked across the keyboard, plopped down, and started licking itself in front of the monitor.
"Get off there, Smoky!" Idiot farm cat. In case you're wondering, and I'm sure you're not, I live out in the middle of the boonies. I actually claim residence in Wazzoo, South Dakota, population 1200, ten miles away. Which means the net is about my only form of human interaction once I'm home for the night.
So I tossed Mokes off the desk, and have you ever heard the noise an airborne cat makes? Never mind. I highlighted the gobbledygook in the review box and hit delete. Bad move!
I once watched exactly one episode of Freakazoid, the first one, before shutting it off to let my IQ regenerate. So imagine that whole "sucked through the computer screen" sequence with only one problem: I am NOT a cartoon. My butt got stuck in the frame, and had to be pulled through one cheek at a time. I'll wait a moment while you clean the vomit off your keyboard from that mental image.
You OK now?
After falling for a few thousand megabytes, somehow or other I landed on my feet. I didn't stay on them, but it's the thought that counts. I stood up carefully, looked around and up-- and up and up and up! Good God, the building I was standing next to was high! I couldn't see anything even close to the top. And surrounding it were more buildings just as mindboggling! Poor little me from out in the cornfields, I wanna go ho-ome! Agh, never mind, ignore that, I just heard myself and I sound like my three-year-old, Blues-Clues-loving nephew. Deep, soothing breath. Think calming thoughts. Canadian bacon pizza with mushrooms and black olives and extra mozzarella. Ahh, that's better, I think I can think clearly again.
So, what to do. I was obviously in some huge city. Question: which city? I'd never been in a town more than a few thousand. Oh well, I can ask some nice friendly passerby for help.
"'Scuse me, can you please tell--"
"Get the hell outta my way, sidewalk trash!" Yipes! Remind me never to hit THAT guy up for money!
"Excuse me, ma'am, but I really don't know--"
"I have mace."
"Eep." Nice, friendly, my butt!
"Hey little lady, I think I can help you out." Some guys over there in the alley. Euww, greaseball alert! Um, I did say I was female, right? Right. But even hormones can only take you so far, and I was not going anywhere near that BO factory. At least, not voluntarily. Too bad for me one of Greaseboy's little friends (I'll call him Hairboy, it's fitting) snuck up behind me, grabbed my arm and stuck something rather pointy in my back. Ulp. Into the alley we go.
"Hehehe, have we found a lost little girl?" Greaseboy licked his lips and snickered. I tried to look amazed.
"Oh my gosh, a mugger that uses correct grammar! Quick, what's Ripley's number?" Oops. I probably shouldn't have mouthed off. You'd think I'd've been smacked upside the head by my own friends enough times to know better. Yup: Splat!
"Ow. Um, yeah, like that hurt. You can't scare me, I have a high tolerance for pain!" Friggin idiot, shut your face! An adrenaline high is worse than a sugar rush, you know that? Crud, here comes another punch--- Wissht! Or not.
Huh? Why's Greaseboy holding his arm like that? There was something black and shiny and metal sticking out of it. Behind me Hairboy suddenly let go, groaning like he just saw his own spleen. I had the pleasure of watching him collapse, unconscious.
I looked around, trying to figure out what the hell's going on--something I'd had difficulty doing lately. There's nothing but black in front of me.
"Are you all right, miss? Are you hurt?" Think of the deepest voice you've ever heard-- maybe that guy on Gargoyles--then lower it about an octave and add some gravel. That's the voice that spoke, and I spun a wobbly one-eighty to see the owner of it. And gasped.
Betcha a buck you can't guess who it was. Uh-huh, the Dark Knight. The Batman himself stood in front of me, looking as concerned as a handsomely masked brick. My eyeballs nearly fell out, but I remembered I had my contacts in and couldn't afford to lose them. Do you know how much those things cost? I stammered a reply.
"Uh, yeah, I'm fine. Look, are you really Batman? This is Gotham City?" A stony nod. I breathed a sigh of relief. Finally, I realized what was going on.
"Phew, I know where I am. I've gone insane! Smoky gave me toxoplasmosis, it spread to my brain, and I'm hallucinating! Thanks for the help, Brucie, I'll just be going home now. Byee!" I tried to walk off, but he grabbed my arm.
"What did you just call me?" Uh-oh. I'm pretty sure his voice went off the deep end of the range of human hearing. That can't be good.
"Nothing. I mean, I know who you are, that's all. Really, it's quite obvious if one used one's skills of deduction, and since you have to be able to finance all your gadgetry and weaponry and other stuffery, it's a good-- eek!" It is not a fun feeling to have your vocal cords held by a very strong man dressed in Spandex and Kevlar. Especially when he's scowling.
"How did you find out my real identity?" He released the pressure on my throat just enough so that when I talked, I sounded like a chipmunk on helium. And probably about as coherent.
"Hey, I'm not from around here. In my world, you don't exist; you're a fictional character. I know the names of all you costumed people. You and the Joker and Twoface and Batgirl and Robin---"
"You rang?" Batman let go my neck as a colorful shape swooped down off the fire escape to land next to me. I could feel my eyes widen and my pulse hit speeding ticket range. Robin flashed a smile in spite of his partner's violent stance against me. I nearly fell over. Those perfect white teeth, perfect lips for kissing, perfect tongue for--oh, I'd better stop before I have to rate this thing NC-17. I tried to speak.
"Blyblubblubly." Two vigilantes frowned: one puzzled, one close to homicidal. I coughed and tried again. "My name is Emily, and it is my extreme pleasure to make your acquaintance. I'd curtsy, but your friend seems to have me in a chickenwing."
Robin laughed; something in my chest did a triple-axle and a Scott Hamilton Backflip.
"So, Batman, who'd the girl mug?" How sweet! He's trying to lighten the Bat's mood! My knees nearly turned to strained carrots. Unfortunately, his attempt didn't work.
"She called me by name. My real name." Robin's smile fell off. Damn. But the remark made him turn to me, which wasn't all bad.
"You know me, too?" Woof. Not nearly well enough.
"Sure. I know your real identity, the reasons you became superheroes, your families, everything. In my world, anyone who watches TV knows the whole spiel." I didn't hear Hairboy come to and creep out of the alley. Apparently, neither did the Masked Ones. They turned away from me to confer.
Great God the All-mighty, All-powerful and All-marvelous, oh what wonders Thou hath wrought. Robin's butt could make ANY female past puberty contemplate a life of armed robbery and hot-wiring, if only to bring that nicely rounded body part within eyeshot again. My knees actually did turn the consistency of baby food then, and I quietly fell over. That gave me the unexpected but quite welcome side effect of being at eye level with said drool-producer. I sat back and enjoyed the show.
At length they turned back to me and noticed I was not in full capacity of my senses. The gooney grin on my face made Batman check my pupils. When he realized I wasn't stoned, just in extreme happiness, he sighed and tossed me into the back seat of the waiting Batmobile. I don't know cars but trust me, the Batmobile I saw once at a car show is definitely a cheap knockoff of the real thing. Suh-WEET!
"So, where we off to? Paris? Rio? Las Vegas for a quickie wedding?"
"Ha, nothing so fun. If you really are from another world or dimension or something, we need to figure out where you're from. You, dear girl, get to be one of the privileged few ever to see the inside of the Batcave."
My howl of delight made Batman's hand twitch to a green button labeled "Knock-out Gas." Luckily he had enough self-restraint not to push it.
"You mean I'm crashing at your place? That means I get to meet Alfred. For cool!" The Dynamic Duo exchanged glances in some form of secret language. I babbled on for the rest of the trip, but I won't torture you with the transcript. Let's just say that by the time we pulled in, Robin had nearly wet his tights laughing and a muscle in Batman's neck was pulsing to a Ricky Martin beat.
"God, Emily," (he remembered my name!) "you have got to meet Barbara. Both of you have such great senses of humor, you will so hit it off." Uh-oh, he wants me to meet his girlfriend, a female superhero who has access to FBI files and weaponry up the yin-yang? How bout no, Scott. But hey, I can fake enthusiasm with the best of em.
"Sure, meeting Batgirl would be cool. Maybe I can get her to teach me a few girl-friendly moves to kick some guys' butts with." Yeah, that'll be the day. I can take about any kid I can baby-sit, and that's it.
We jumped out of that magnificent car onto a big stone platform. That wasn't a cave, it was an underground YMCA! There was more workout equipment in there than I'd seen in my entire life! Plus full medical facilities, a laboratory, a computer the size of a refrigerator with matching screen, and what looked suspiciously like an old Army cot. Looks like I found home sweet home for the night.
"Have we a guest, Master Bruce?" That must be Alfred standing at the top of the stairs. Kind, grandfatherly, white-haired old guy who looked like he could probably kick my ass without letting his souffl‚ fall.
"Yes, Alfred. This is Emily. She'll be staying here tonight. Hopefully not longer."
"Ooh, don't gush all over on my behalf. Is he this grumpy all the time?" Two minuscule nods and one gigantic glare. The nice butler led me, not to the cot, but a cute little room upstairs jam-packed with pastel pink and frills. I nearly vomited, but I figured I had to be a gracious guest. I'd hurl after I got some food. Alfred took my order of pizza (you can read the recipe earlier in this piece), and guess who deigned to dine with me? The Masked Mallard himself. Well, unmasked.
"Odd choice of cuisine. You do know that our kitchen can provide any meal known to man, right?" Damn if he didn't almost seem human without the cowl!
"'Sall right. This is my absolute fave pizza, and if you have time, please give my compliments to the chef. The oregano sauce is exquisite, with just the right hint of garlic." All he did was roll his eyes. Sigh. Don't know why I try.
"Do you know where you are from?"
"Duh! Of course! Unfortunately, though, I don't know where that is in relation to here. Can I see a map, please? I don't even know which state Gotham City is in. Where I'm from, it's a--"
"Fictional place, I know. You told me that part already." Can he be any more condescending? I dunno. He left to go get a map and I fell asleep. Yes, I am an idiot. I know you'd like to hear more fun bickering and antagonism, but I was totally conked. So I'd had a looooong day, what with getting sucked into a different dimension, almost getting mugged, meeting Batman, meeting Robin........drool. Ah screw it, let's just say I had some very good dreams that night.
So, when I awakened-- or rather, was jolted out of bed by a certain rabid morning person I shall only call "A"-- I was immediately assaulted by large amounts of oatmeal. Crunchy oatmeal with little specks of unidentified brown in it. And healthy, dry wheat toast. And some kind of white water that I don't think had a drop of milk in it. Worse than skim: non-fat dry. Ughghgh (that's a verbal shudder). I came very close to mummifying "A" in the cotton candy bedspread and shoving that oh-so-nourishing breakfast up his nose. I am NOT a morning person.
Anyway, after four hours of interminable boredom (wherever Gotham City is, it sure as hell doesn't have any cartoons), Robin, or Dick actually, came by to pick me up. I got to ride behind him on a motorcycle to the building where I was originally found. With my arms around his waist. Excuse for a moment.
HOOHOOHOOEEEEEE!!!
All right, I'm better now.
So when we got to the skyscraper, we checked things out to see what the general layout of the situation was. We scoped out the place (I won't tell you what I was scoping), and found out that the skyscraper had exactly 777 floors. Yeah, that was one hugely useful piece of information. More useful was the tidbit that Dick gleaned from the tour guide. Apparently the building had a telephone tower, or something close to it, on the roof that hooked up globally via satellite. Hmmmm.
We continued on out merry way, playing tourist, till Dick's paranoia stemming from way too much skulking in alleyways kicked in. He nudged me ever-so-secretively.
"Hey. Is it just me or is that guy staring at us?" He nodded at some random guy behind us. Yes, he was watching us strangely. And when I checked again, he looked really, really familiar. Just like....
"Oh, shit. I know that guy. Looks like Hairboy got himself cleaned up." The last remark meant nothing to Dick, till I explained how we had met. "He's one of the guys that mugged me yesterday. Maybe you should quietly get out of here and call for, ahem, reinforcements. Like, colorful reinforcements. Like, now!" Hairboy was slime-ing his way towards me, not noticing Dick's quick escape to a nearby closet.
"Hehe, looks like we meet again, missy. Can it be fate?" Hairboy tried to look Casanova-like while staring at my chest. It didn't work.
"It could be you in a hospital bed, facing a testicle retrieval operation if you're not careful." He just chuckled.
"Haha, little lady, you get to bring that smart little tongue with you when you meet my boss. He's extremely interested in you. I heard your little chat with the flying rodent last night, about you knowing him a little too well. You get inside those black tights during the night?"
"Jealous, Hairboy? I'll stop worrying about sexual harassment, then. Waitaminute, your boss? Who might he be?" No answer. He grabbed my arm and tried to steer me toward the exit. I attempted to kick him where it would hurt the most, but he twisted away. Lucky me, the security dweebs were nowhere to be found, and Dick seemed to have gotten stuck in the closet, with a really, REALLY big woman blocking the door. Fudgepuppies.
We walked downstairs, and Hairboy escorted me to a waiting `74 Chevy Capris. Olive green mottled with primer gray. Euww. This was not a high-priced henchman. He tied my eyeballs into my head with a bandanna, one that I think had been used to clean out the rustbucket's oil pan previously. Euww again. He drove me around for some time, probably so that I wouldn't know where we were going. Yeah, like I'd know anyway.
Anyway, whenever we got there, he physically picked me up, grunting and puffing, (which is NOT an ego boost, let me tell you) and plopped me into a hard wooden chair. And tied me down. This is not a good thing. But I figured, I'm tough enough to meet the Batman and survive, I can handle this. Until a very loud, very obnoxious laugh screeched directly into my ear. They were going to torture me with it, I just knew!
"Eeheeheehee, what have we got here, boys?" I couldn't see the speaker, but I could guess that he had green hair and a taste for flashy suits. Remember, stiff upper lip.
"Jeez, Jack, do all you stupid villains read from the same script for the mentally challenged? Meaning no offense to the challenged, of course. Now why don't you be a good boy and let me go. I have friends in high places. And get a breath mint, for Pete's sake!" Too much lip, too much lip!
"Does Tootsie here always talk this much?" That was Joker trying to whisper to his henchman. I didn't bother to be quiet.
"Yes, Tootsie says whatever she damn well pleases. And my name is Emily, not Tootsie, Emily. That's E-M-I-L-Y. Very good, now let's try it phonetically."
A groan. "All right, then, Emily. We've got a real simple bargain for you. You tell us who Ratman and Bobbin are, and I won't use my special brand of truth serum on you or let you play with the hyenas." I thought about it for, oh, one forty-seventh of a nano-second.
"Sounds good, Jack. Only problem is, I happen to be loyal to those who save my life. Therefore, you can take your sodium pentothal and shove it up your pale, skinny, been-around-the-prison-a---- Mmph! Muwummph!?" That was another skanky bandanna getting stuffed in my yap.
Hairboy spoke up in my defense. "But, Boss, how will she be able to tell us if she has that in her mouth?" Never let it be said that the boy doesn't have a brain, albeit trial-sized.
"Simple, sludgebrain. We wait for the truth serum to kick in, then ungag her. Then she'll tell us anything we wanna know! Eeheeheehee!" Maniacal laughter followed as Hairboy injected my arm with some sort of goop. Remember that high tolerance for pain I mentioned earlier? I lied. I whimpered. I hate needles.
But before I go into that, maybe I should fill you in on a little something. Truth serum, usually a chemical concoction called thiopental sodium used for narcotherapy, isn't the magic lie detector most think it to be. It really just partially hypnotizes--loosens a person's inhibitions, and hopefully, their tongue. He or she is more likely to let the wrong word slip before passing out with the stuff in their veins if the interrogator has good timing.
But whatever it was supposed to do, the dumbass grabbed the wrong syringe.
At length Hairboy pulled the cloth out of my mouth.
"So, are you gonna tell my boss who the Batman is?"
"He is vengeance; he is the night; he is BATMAN!" Come on, you know you've seen that commercial waaay too many times. I was just quoting it. I think.
"Talk, girlie. Who is he?" Now he was right up in my face. Tuna breath! Euww! Shake it of, Em. Gotta keep your head.
"You are speaking of the one and only Dark Knight, defender of those who cower in fear. He is the all-powerful, all-knowing righter of wrongs and guardian of the weak. The master of punishment to those who deserve it. He is the ONLY gothic superhero, the vigilante in black who kicks the ass of all who seek to harm the innocent!"
"HIS NAME, DAMMIT!"
"Eric Draven."
"She's lying, Boss!"
"Shut up, dimwit, I know that. Draven's the dead guy who screwed up Devil's Night a few years back. Moron. Not him, you! Go get me that syringe, she should be spilling her guts by now." Hairboy ran to get it, I could hear his footsteps there and back. I could also hear Joker cuss. (Following is edited to fit under age restrictions)
"You stupid bleeping bleep-for-brains! You grabbed my personal stash of happy juice! Bleeping idiotic inbred bleep! You are SO hyena chow!" Disgusting chomps, growls, screams, shrieks and slobbers followed.
Meanwhile I was singing. "Fighting evil by moonlight, winning by daylight, never running from a real fight, she is the one named Sailor Moon!"
"Huh?"
"I am the beautiful soldier Sailor Moon! In the name of the Moon, I will right wrongs and triumph over evil, and that means you, Tuna-Breath!"
"You screamed at me earlier that your name was Emily."
"Nope, Usagi. Call me Bunny and you die." I giggled. "Although I have so many names, it's hard to keep track of them all. Sailor Moon, Bishojo SENshi Sailor Moon, Usako, Serenity, PRINcess Serenity, Neo-QUEEN Serenity....." The list goes on and on, most involving the words Moon or Serene in some way. God knows what goes on in my brain sometimes. "You can't keep me here, you know. Even if I don't get out by myself, the Senshi or Tuxedo Kamen will save me!"
A well-timed CRASHcrunchtinklejingleOWdammitIcutmyself filled the air.
"Tuxie baby!"
"Huh?" That's about everyone in the room except me. And any of you Batman readers that aren't Moonies. Meaning about 98.875% of you.
"Let the girl go, Joker!" Oh, the confidence that boy has in me.
"You're too late, Boy Blunder! She's already told me who you are, and when you get home there will be a surprise for you. How do the British put it? A bloody nice surprise? Eeheeheehee!" I heard the wonderfully musical sound of gloved fist hitting nose. And a splat as he hit the floor.
Robin carefully untied me, asking if I was hurt, did I really tell them anything, actually sounding a bit frightened.
"Don't worry. I'm a superhero. I can do these things. Now, babe, maybe it's time we checked into Central Control, huh? Artemis must be getting worried." I could HEAR the puzzled wrinkles forming behind his half-mask. Then he just shook his head, grabbed me, and pulled us both up and out the now-broken skylight.
We shimmied down the fire escape, hopped aboard the Batcycle (Robincycle?) and cruised off into the night. My go-juice wore out about halfway to the cave but my brain was still not functioning. I just leaned in and zoned out. Look at all the pretty colors, Mommy! Doop de doo, hey we're back in the Batcave again! Don't you just love those transitionary scenes? The Bat, needless to say, was not happy I'd gone and gotten myself captured.
"......." That and a glower were my entire response, but somehow I just knew I had displeased the Caped One. Now there's a change from the usual. I did, however, try to explain myself.
"Don't worry, Batsy, I didn't tell them a thing. At least, I don't think so. You know, the Joker seemed nearly human when he was interrogating me. Maybe you guys make him nervous, that's why he acts like a psycho all the time."
"Rrrrrrrriiiiiiighhtt."
Did they have Austin Powers in this universe or did he make that up all on his lonesome? Either way he did it perfectly.
"Hey, Em? What were you babbling about in there? Something about the moon?"
"I thought I was Sailor Moon." Blank looks. "Come on, you guys, Sailor Moon? One of the most popular anime in the world? A little low on intellect but high on emotion and girl power?" More vapid stares. "Yeesh. Check out a website for crying out loud!"
And thus ended the adventures of a freak in a freak town.
Huh. But you wish that there was more to it, don'tchya? But basically, all we did after that was eat (I am spoiled for Alfred's cooking for the rest of my life) and head back to that tower to send me home. Not that I minded the company in this world, but I was getting a little homesick. Just a little. Very little. In fact not at all, but Bruce threatened to send my back to the Joker if I didn't get the hell outta there NOW. So Mr. Computer Genius fiddled with the satellite hookup thingie till it was ready to go, then hit the button and I was off again. I did manage to swipe a goodbye hug from Dick, but I don't think that he was all that impressed. What the hell, I don't look good in Spandex anyway.
So now I'm sitting at home; nice, safe, familiar, homey home. The most godawful boring place in this or any other universe. But don't you worry, B's & G's. I have a plan.
OK. Internet? Check.
fanfiction.net? Check.
X-Men fic? Check.
Look out Gambit, here I come!
Oops, one thing first.
Heeeeeeere, kitty kitty kitty! C'mere, Smoky! That's it, right over to the keyboard.... I love computers.
Hello self-insertion fic! Okay folks, maybe you don't know, but I tend to wander/babble when I write. But it's fun to read, so enjoy! I do have a plot, eventually.
I apologize to anyone whose name or works appears in this piece. I don't own any of it, especially not Batman. So pleeeeeeeeeeease don't sue.
I hate computers. If it weren't for the damn things I never would have gotten into all that trouble. Nuff foreshadowing for you folks? Good. Well, maybe it wasn't all my computer's fault; after all, it was my cat that hit the buttons. Yes, I know that makes no sense at all. ANYway,
I was cruising around fanfiction.net, looking for some good fics. That's the purpose of the site, and it does an admirable job of it, too (shameless plug!). I like cartoons: Sailor Moon, Daria, South Park, Batman, X-men, you get the picture. I was wandering, finding a couple good ones, writing reviews, that sort of thing. So my cat, feline numbskull that he is-- no wait, he's not a he any more. A visit to the vet and now he's an it, and just wishes it had a social life. But he/it's bored, having nothing else to do (think about that for a second) and decided to get into some Batman, too. It walked across the keyboard, plopped down, and started licking itself in front of the monitor.
"Get off there, Smoky!" Idiot farm cat. In case you're wondering, and I'm sure you're not, I live out in the middle of the boonies. I actually claim residence in Wazzoo, South Dakota, population 1200, ten miles away. Which means the net is about my only form of human interaction once I'm home for the night.
So I tossed Mokes off the desk, and have you ever heard the noise an airborne cat makes? Never mind. I highlighted the gobbledygook in the review box and hit delete. Bad move!
I once watched exactly one episode of Freakazoid, the first one, before shutting it off to let my IQ regenerate. So imagine that whole "sucked through the computer screen" sequence with only one problem: I am NOT a cartoon. My butt got stuck in the frame, and had to be pulled through one cheek at a time. I'll wait a moment while you clean the vomit off your keyboard from that mental image.
You OK now?
After falling for a few thousand megabytes, somehow or other I landed on my feet. I didn't stay on them, but it's the thought that counts. I stood up carefully, looked around and up-- and up and up and up! Good God, the building I was standing next to was high! I couldn't see anything even close to the top. And surrounding it were more buildings just as mindboggling! Poor little me from out in the cornfields, I wanna go ho-ome! Agh, never mind, ignore that, I just heard myself and I sound like my three-year-old, Blues-Clues-loving nephew. Deep, soothing breath. Think calming thoughts. Canadian bacon pizza with mushrooms and black olives and extra mozzarella. Ahh, that's better, I think I can think clearly again.
So, what to do. I was obviously in some huge city. Question: which city? I'd never been in a town more than a few thousand. Oh well, I can ask some nice friendly passerby for help.
"'Scuse me, can you please tell--"
"Get the hell outta my way, sidewalk trash!" Yipes! Remind me never to hit THAT guy up for money!
"Excuse me, ma'am, but I really don't know--"
"I have mace."
"Eep." Nice, friendly, my butt!
"Hey little lady, I think I can help you out." Some guys over there in the alley. Euww, greaseball alert! Um, I did say I was female, right? Right. But even hormones can only take you so far, and I was not going anywhere near that BO factory. At least, not voluntarily. Too bad for me one of Greaseboy's little friends (I'll call him Hairboy, it's fitting) snuck up behind me, grabbed my arm and stuck something rather pointy in my back. Ulp. Into the alley we go.
"Hehehe, have we found a lost little girl?" Greaseboy licked his lips and snickered. I tried to look amazed.
"Oh my gosh, a mugger that uses correct grammar! Quick, what's Ripley's number?" Oops. I probably shouldn't have mouthed off. You'd think I'd've been smacked upside the head by my own friends enough times to know better. Yup: Splat!
"Ow. Um, yeah, like that hurt. You can't scare me, I have a high tolerance for pain!" Friggin idiot, shut your face! An adrenaline high is worse than a sugar rush, you know that? Crud, here comes another punch--- Wissht! Or not.
Huh? Why's Greaseboy holding his arm like that? There was something black and shiny and metal sticking out of it. Behind me Hairboy suddenly let go, groaning like he just saw his own spleen. I had the pleasure of watching him collapse, unconscious.
I looked around, trying to figure out what the hell's going on--something I'd had difficulty doing lately. There's nothing but black in front of me.
"Are you all right, miss? Are you hurt?" Think of the deepest voice you've ever heard-- maybe that guy on Gargoyles--then lower it about an octave and add some gravel. That's the voice that spoke, and I spun a wobbly one-eighty to see the owner of it. And gasped.
Betcha a buck you can't guess who it was. Uh-huh, the Dark Knight. The Batman himself stood in front of me, looking as concerned as a handsomely masked brick. My eyeballs nearly fell out, but I remembered I had my contacts in and couldn't afford to lose them. Do you know how much those things cost? I stammered a reply.
"Uh, yeah, I'm fine. Look, are you really Batman? This is Gotham City?" A stony nod. I breathed a sigh of relief. Finally, I realized what was going on.
"Phew, I know where I am. I've gone insane! Smoky gave me toxoplasmosis, it spread to my brain, and I'm hallucinating! Thanks for the help, Brucie, I'll just be going home now. Byee!" I tried to walk off, but he grabbed my arm.
"What did you just call me?" Uh-oh. I'm pretty sure his voice went off the deep end of the range of human hearing. That can't be good.
"Nothing. I mean, I know who you are, that's all. Really, it's quite obvious if one used one's skills of deduction, and since you have to be able to finance all your gadgetry and weaponry and other stuffery, it's a good-- eek!" It is not a fun feeling to have your vocal cords held by a very strong man dressed in Spandex and Kevlar. Especially when he's scowling.
"How did you find out my real identity?" He released the pressure on my throat just enough so that when I talked, I sounded like a chipmunk on helium. And probably about as coherent.
"Hey, I'm not from around here. In my world, you don't exist; you're a fictional character. I know the names of all you costumed people. You and the Joker and Twoface and Batgirl and Robin---"
"You rang?" Batman let go my neck as a colorful shape swooped down off the fire escape to land next to me. I could feel my eyes widen and my pulse hit speeding ticket range. Robin flashed a smile in spite of his partner's violent stance against me. I nearly fell over. Those perfect white teeth, perfect lips for kissing, perfect tongue for--oh, I'd better stop before I have to rate this thing NC-17. I tried to speak.
"Blyblubblubly." Two vigilantes frowned: one puzzled, one close to homicidal. I coughed and tried again. "My name is Emily, and it is my extreme pleasure to make your acquaintance. I'd curtsy, but your friend seems to have me in a chickenwing."
Robin laughed; something in my chest did a triple-axle and a Scott Hamilton Backflip.
"So, Batman, who'd the girl mug?" How sweet! He's trying to lighten the Bat's mood! My knees nearly turned to strained carrots. Unfortunately, his attempt didn't work.
"She called me by name. My real name." Robin's smile fell off. Damn. But the remark made him turn to me, which wasn't all bad.
"You know me, too?" Woof. Not nearly well enough.
"Sure. I know your real identity, the reasons you became superheroes, your families, everything. In my world, anyone who watches TV knows the whole spiel." I didn't hear Hairboy come to and creep out of the alley. Apparently, neither did the Masked Ones. They turned away from me to confer.
Great God the All-mighty, All-powerful and All-marvelous, oh what wonders Thou hath wrought. Robin's butt could make ANY female past puberty contemplate a life of armed robbery and hot-wiring, if only to bring that nicely rounded body part within eyeshot again. My knees actually did turn the consistency of baby food then, and I quietly fell over. That gave me the unexpected but quite welcome side effect of being at eye level with said drool-producer. I sat back and enjoyed the show.
At length they turned back to me and noticed I was not in full capacity of my senses. The gooney grin on my face made Batman check my pupils. When he realized I wasn't stoned, just in extreme happiness, he sighed and tossed me into the back seat of the waiting Batmobile. I don't know cars but trust me, the Batmobile I saw once at a car show is definitely a cheap knockoff of the real thing. Suh-WEET!
"So, where we off to? Paris? Rio? Las Vegas for a quickie wedding?"
"Ha, nothing so fun. If you really are from another world or dimension or something, we need to figure out where you're from. You, dear girl, get to be one of the privileged few ever to see the inside of the Batcave."
My howl of delight made Batman's hand twitch to a green button labeled "Knock-out Gas." Luckily he had enough self-restraint not to push it.
"You mean I'm crashing at your place? That means I get to meet Alfred. For cool!" The Dynamic Duo exchanged glances in some form of secret language. I babbled on for the rest of the trip, but I won't torture you with the transcript. Let's just say that by the time we pulled in, Robin had nearly wet his tights laughing and a muscle in Batman's neck was pulsing to a Ricky Martin beat.
"God, Emily," (he remembered my name!) "you have got to meet Barbara. Both of you have such great senses of humor, you will so hit it off." Uh-oh, he wants me to meet his girlfriend, a female superhero who has access to FBI files and weaponry up the yin-yang? How bout no, Scott. But hey, I can fake enthusiasm with the best of em.
"Sure, meeting Batgirl would be cool. Maybe I can get her to teach me a few girl-friendly moves to kick some guys' butts with." Yeah, that'll be the day. I can take about any kid I can baby-sit, and that's it.
We jumped out of that magnificent car onto a big stone platform. That wasn't a cave, it was an underground YMCA! There was more workout equipment in there than I'd seen in my entire life! Plus full medical facilities, a laboratory, a computer the size of a refrigerator with matching screen, and what looked suspiciously like an old Army cot. Looks like I found home sweet home for the night.
"Have we a guest, Master Bruce?" That must be Alfred standing at the top of the stairs. Kind, grandfatherly, white-haired old guy who looked like he could probably kick my ass without letting his souffl‚ fall.
"Yes, Alfred. This is Emily. She'll be staying here tonight. Hopefully not longer."
"Ooh, don't gush all over on my behalf. Is he this grumpy all the time?" Two minuscule nods and one gigantic glare. The nice butler led me, not to the cot, but a cute little room upstairs jam-packed with pastel pink and frills. I nearly vomited, but I figured I had to be a gracious guest. I'd hurl after I got some food. Alfred took my order of pizza (you can read the recipe earlier in this piece), and guess who deigned to dine with me? The Masked Mallard himself. Well, unmasked.
"Odd choice of cuisine. You do know that our kitchen can provide any meal known to man, right?" Damn if he didn't almost seem human without the cowl!
"'Sall right. This is my absolute fave pizza, and if you have time, please give my compliments to the chef. The oregano sauce is exquisite, with just the right hint of garlic." All he did was roll his eyes. Sigh. Don't know why I try.
"Do you know where you are from?"
"Duh! Of course! Unfortunately, though, I don't know where that is in relation to here. Can I see a map, please? I don't even know which state Gotham City is in. Where I'm from, it's a--"
"Fictional place, I know. You told me that part already." Can he be any more condescending? I dunno. He left to go get a map and I fell asleep. Yes, I am an idiot. I know you'd like to hear more fun bickering and antagonism, but I was totally conked. So I'd had a looooong day, what with getting sucked into a different dimension, almost getting mugged, meeting Batman, meeting Robin........drool. Ah screw it, let's just say I had some very good dreams that night.
So, when I awakened-- or rather, was jolted out of bed by a certain rabid morning person I shall only call "A"-- I was immediately assaulted by large amounts of oatmeal. Crunchy oatmeal with little specks of unidentified brown in it. And healthy, dry wheat toast. And some kind of white water that I don't think had a drop of milk in it. Worse than skim: non-fat dry. Ughghgh (that's a verbal shudder). I came very close to mummifying "A" in the cotton candy bedspread and shoving that oh-so-nourishing breakfast up his nose. I am NOT a morning person.
Anyway, after four hours of interminable boredom (wherever Gotham City is, it sure as hell doesn't have any cartoons), Robin, or Dick actually, came by to pick me up. I got to ride behind him on a motorcycle to the building where I was originally found. With my arms around his waist. Excuse for a moment.
HOOHOOHOOEEEEEE!!!
All right, I'm better now.
So when we got to the skyscraper, we checked things out to see what the general layout of the situation was. We scoped out the place (I won't tell you what I was scoping), and found out that the skyscraper had exactly 777 floors. Yeah, that was one hugely useful piece of information. More useful was the tidbit that Dick gleaned from the tour guide. Apparently the building had a telephone tower, or something close to it, on the roof that hooked up globally via satellite. Hmmmm.
We continued on out merry way, playing tourist, till Dick's paranoia stemming from way too much skulking in alleyways kicked in. He nudged me ever-so-secretively.
"Hey. Is it just me or is that guy staring at us?" He nodded at some random guy behind us. Yes, he was watching us strangely. And when I checked again, he looked really, really familiar. Just like....
"Oh, shit. I know that guy. Looks like Hairboy got himself cleaned up." The last remark meant nothing to Dick, till I explained how we had met. "He's one of the guys that mugged me yesterday. Maybe you should quietly get out of here and call for, ahem, reinforcements. Like, colorful reinforcements. Like, now!" Hairboy was slime-ing his way towards me, not noticing Dick's quick escape to a nearby closet.
"Hehe, looks like we meet again, missy. Can it be fate?" Hairboy tried to look Casanova-like while staring at my chest. It didn't work.
"It could be you in a hospital bed, facing a testicle retrieval operation if you're not careful." He just chuckled.
"Haha, little lady, you get to bring that smart little tongue with you when you meet my boss. He's extremely interested in you. I heard your little chat with the flying rodent last night, about you knowing him a little too well. You get inside those black tights during the night?"
"Jealous, Hairboy? I'll stop worrying about sexual harassment, then. Waitaminute, your boss? Who might he be?" No answer. He grabbed my arm and tried to steer me toward the exit. I attempted to kick him where it would hurt the most, but he twisted away. Lucky me, the security dweebs were nowhere to be found, and Dick seemed to have gotten stuck in the closet, with a really, REALLY big woman blocking the door. Fudgepuppies.
We walked downstairs, and Hairboy escorted me to a waiting `74 Chevy Capris. Olive green mottled with primer gray. Euww. This was not a high-priced henchman. He tied my eyeballs into my head with a bandanna, one that I think had been used to clean out the rustbucket's oil pan previously. Euww again. He drove me around for some time, probably so that I wouldn't know where we were going. Yeah, like I'd know anyway.
Anyway, whenever we got there, he physically picked me up, grunting and puffing, (which is NOT an ego boost, let me tell you) and plopped me into a hard wooden chair. And tied me down. This is not a good thing. But I figured, I'm tough enough to meet the Batman and survive, I can handle this. Until a very loud, very obnoxious laugh screeched directly into my ear. They were going to torture me with it, I just knew!
"Eeheeheehee, what have we got here, boys?" I couldn't see the speaker, but I could guess that he had green hair and a taste for flashy suits. Remember, stiff upper lip.
"Jeez, Jack, do all you stupid villains read from the same script for the mentally challenged? Meaning no offense to the challenged, of course. Now why don't you be a good boy and let me go. I have friends in high places. And get a breath mint, for Pete's sake!" Too much lip, too much lip!
"Does Tootsie here always talk this much?" That was Joker trying to whisper to his henchman. I didn't bother to be quiet.
"Yes, Tootsie says whatever she damn well pleases. And my name is Emily, not Tootsie, Emily. That's E-M-I-L-Y. Very good, now let's try it phonetically."
A groan. "All right, then, Emily. We've got a real simple bargain for you. You tell us who Ratman and Bobbin are, and I won't use my special brand of truth serum on you or let you play with the hyenas." I thought about it for, oh, one forty-seventh of a nano-second.
"Sounds good, Jack. Only problem is, I happen to be loyal to those who save my life. Therefore, you can take your sodium pentothal and shove it up your pale, skinny, been-around-the-prison-a---- Mmph! Muwummph!?" That was another skanky bandanna getting stuffed in my yap.
Hairboy spoke up in my defense. "But, Boss, how will she be able to tell us if she has that in her mouth?" Never let it be said that the boy doesn't have a brain, albeit trial-sized.
"Simple, sludgebrain. We wait for the truth serum to kick in, then ungag her. Then she'll tell us anything we wanna know! Eeheeheehee!" Maniacal laughter followed as Hairboy injected my arm with some sort of goop. Remember that high tolerance for pain I mentioned earlier? I lied. I whimpered. I hate needles.
But before I go into that, maybe I should fill you in on a little something. Truth serum, usually a chemical concoction called thiopental sodium used for narcotherapy, isn't the magic lie detector most think it to be. It really just partially hypnotizes--loosens a person's inhibitions, and hopefully, their tongue. He or she is more likely to let the wrong word slip before passing out with the stuff in their veins if the interrogator has good timing.
But whatever it was supposed to do, the dumbass grabbed the wrong syringe.
At length Hairboy pulled the cloth out of my mouth.
"So, are you gonna tell my boss who the Batman is?"
"He is vengeance; he is the night; he is BATMAN!" Come on, you know you've seen that commercial waaay too many times. I was just quoting it. I think.
"Talk, girlie. Who is he?" Now he was right up in my face. Tuna breath! Euww! Shake it of, Em. Gotta keep your head.
"You are speaking of the one and only Dark Knight, defender of those who cower in fear. He is the all-powerful, all-knowing righter of wrongs and guardian of the weak. The master of punishment to those who deserve it. He is the ONLY gothic superhero, the vigilante in black who kicks the ass of all who seek to harm the innocent!"
"HIS NAME, DAMMIT!"
"Eric Draven."
"She's lying, Boss!"
"Shut up, dimwit, I know that. Draven's the dead guy who screwed up Devil's Night a few years back. Moron. Not him, you! Go get me that syringe, she should be spilling her guts by now." Hairboy ran to get it, I could hear his footsteps there and back. I could also hear Joker cuss. (Following is edited to fit under age restrictions)
"You stupid bleeping bleep-for-brains! You grabbed my personal stash of happy juice! Bleeping idiotic inbred bleep! You are SO hyena chow!" Disgusting chomps, growls, screams, shrieks and slobbers followed.
Meanwhile I was singing. "Fighting evil by moonlight, winning by daylight, never running from a real fight, she is the one named Sailor Moon!"
"Huh?"
"I am the beautiful soldier Sailor Moon! In the name of the Moon, I will right wrongs and triumph over evil, and that means you, Tuna-Breath!"
"You screamed at me earlier that your name was Emily."
"Nope, Usagi. Call me Bunny and you die." I giggled. "Although I have so many names, it's hard to keep track of them all. Sailor Moon, Bishojo SENshi Sailor Moon, Usako, Serenity, PRINcess Serenity, Neo-QUEEN Serenity....." The list goes on and on, most involving the words Moon or Serene in some way. God knows what goes on in my brain sometimes. "You can't keep me here, you know. Even if I don't get out by myself, the Senshi or Tuxedo Kamen will save me!"
A well-timed CRASHcrunchtinklejingleOWdammitIcutmyself filled the air.
"Tuxie baby!"
"Huh?" That's about everyone in the room except me. And any of you Batman readers that aren't Moonies. Meaning about 98.875% of you.
"Let the girl go, Joker!" Oh, the confidence that boy has in me.
"You're too late, Boy Blunder! She's already told me who you are, and when you get home there will be a surprise for you. How do the British put it? A bloody nice surprise? Eeheeheehee!" I heard the wonderfully musical sound of gloved fist hitting nose. And a splat as he hit the floor.
Robin carefully untied me, asking if I was hurt, did I really tell them anything, actually sounding a bit frightened.
"Don't worry. I'm a superhero. I can do these things. Now, babe, maybe it's time we checked into Central Control, huh? Artemis must be getting worried." I could HEAR the puzzled wrinkles forming behind his half-mask. Then he just shook his head, grabbed me, and pulled us both up and out the now-broken skylight.
We shimmied down the fire escape, hopped aboard the Batcycle (Robincycle?) and cruised off into the night. My go-juice wore out about halfway to the cave but my brain was still not functioning. I just leaned in and zoned out. Look at all the pretty colors, Mommy! Doop de doo, hey we're back in the Batcave again! Don't you just love those transitionary scenes? The Bat, needless to say, was not happy I'd gone and gotten myself captured.
"......." That and a glower were my entire response, but somehow I just knew I had displeased the Caped One. Now there's a change from the usual. I did, however, try to explain myself.
"Don't worry, Batsy, I didn't tell them a thing. At least, I don't think so. You know, the Joker seemed nearly human when he was interrogating me. Maybe you guys make him nervous, that's why he acts like a psycho all the time."
"Rrrrrrrriiiiiiighhtt."
Did they have Austin Powers in this universe or did he make that up all on his lonesome? Either way he did it perfectly.
"Hey, Em? What were you babbling about in there? Something about the moon?"
"I thought I was Sailor Moon." Blank looks. "Come on, you guys, Sailor Moon? One of the most popular anime in the world? A little low on intellect but high on emotion and girl power?" More vapid stares. "Yeesh. Check out a website for crying out loud!"
And thus ended the adventures of a freak in a freak town.
Huh. But you wish that there was more to it, don'tchya? But basically, all we did after that was eat (I am spoiled for Alfred's cooking for the rest of my life) and head back to that tower to send me home. Not that I minded the company in this world, but I was getting a little homesick. Just a little. Very little. In fact not at all, but Bruce threatened to send my back to the Joker if I didn't get the hell outta there NOW. So Mr. Computer Genius fiddled with the satellite hookup thingie till it was ready to go, then hit the button and I was off again. I did manage to swipe a goodbye hug from Dick, but I don't think that he was all that impressed. What the hell, I don't look good in Spandex anyway.
So now I'm sitting at home; nice, safe, familiar, homey home. The most godawful boring place in this or any other universe. But don't you worry, B's & G's. I have a plan.
OK. Internet? Check.
fanfiction.net? Check.
X-Men fic? Check.
Look out Gambit, here I come!
Oops, one thing first.
Heeeeeeere, kitty kitty kitty! C'mere, Smoky! That's it, right over to the keyboard.... I love computers.