So yeah... Its good to be back! Hopefully to stay. I'm just gonna get this story off my chest. I know most of my stories are about the Joker, but my frog pills have started to work their magic (kudos to people who get that reference) and I think that I need more practice with Batman, because my story 'mask upon mask' needs some character work. Plus I watched A ton of Batman movies and they are still springing around in my head. Anyway! I love all youse people out there!
The Joker kicked up and swung down and Bruce pushed sideways.
They dodged and slid and ran and jumped in the familiar pattern of their dance. Every Slam of every foot and fist on flesh drove them closer and closer to the edge of death.
Gotham's main dam opened beneath them. Almost six-hundred feet of concrete and water stretching downward, swallowed by fog and jetting water that came from Gotham lake.
Rachel and Gordon and his parents and Alfred, they didn't exist up here. Emotions didn't exist, it was just physical pain and adrenaline.
His cape hung heavy, weighted down by water and sweat. His black and the purple and green of the Joker's costume clashed magnificently. The Joker's makeup was smeared and cracked , the water was washing the dye out of his hair and his forehead had been almost completely washed clean.
Batman blocked one of the Joker's kicks and returned the blow with a punch of his own.
Tame, useless, wast of gravity Bruce Wayne was lifeless, this was when Batman lived.
Iron filled his nose and coated his teeth. The bitterness of blood and sweat muffled all of his senses. The Joker cackled and Batman half turned, breaking the pattern and landing a kick on the clown's stomach.
The Joker hit the railing with a kind of broken groan and a minute expression of pain and hilarity broke over his white-and-red-caked face. The water roared below the villain and vigilante, it crashed and collapsed in on itself, seeming to reach desperately for the two figures, beckoning for their souls, their breath, their vitality. Eager for something that he wasn't ready to give.
The Joker pulled himself onto the concrete railing and pistoned his legs to catch Bruce in the chest.
Bruce went down on his knees, the breath knocked out of him. The air seemed to be vibrating with the power of the water, and he gasped, struggling to get air into his bruised lungs. The Joker still sat up his legs still in the air, he went in for another kick trying to get to Bruce's head.
Bruce surged up, pushing the Joker's legs upward with a sweep of one arm.
There was a grunt from the Joker and his legs connected with the ground again, he launched himself at Bruce and Batman reacted in the only way he knew how.
The Joker flew, he hit the railing and flipped backwards over it, his skull connecting with the stone in a sickening crunch. There was a flash of purple and green and a hand disappeared over the edge.
Before he could understand what he was doing and how he was moving Bruce was at the edge looking out over the fog.
A soft cackle ending with a hacking cough drew his gaze downwards. The Joker was clinging to a slab that protruded from the concrete. His fingertips had gone white under the press of gravity.
The Joker smiled up at Bruce, his hair was washed clean and his makeup was only a thin layer on his face.
"You gonna' leave me hanging, batsy?"
there wasn't even a pause, not a hesitant thought, no thought at all really, Batman extended one gloved hand out to his enemy.
Bruce Wayne would wonder about that later.
The Joker let go of his hold on the overhang with one hand. He seemed to float. Suspended by only one hand over a stretch of endless fog.
And something caught the morning light.
A little flash of silver.
A short sturdy needle was strapped to the Joker's palm. It glinted darkly in it's place, a needy outstretched, desperate death trap.
Bruce recoiled and the Joker smiled. "C'mon lend me a hand batsy."
Batman leaned over the edge, undecided, he needed to save the Joker. But that needle kept him at bay. He stood, his mind going blank as two conflicting urges fought.
The Joker swung lightly in the breeze, his coat flapping in sharp wet slaps. Dawn was approaching over the lake but the clown hung in the shadow of the damn. He swung in the light breeze one hand lifted up in supplication and violence. Unaffected by Vertigo he stared up at his opposite and clone.
"God love you Bats."
The world froze. The Joker's hand unclenched and he began to fall backwards. His green-tinged blond hair blew up around his face. The crazed eyes slipped closed.
A scream ripped itself from Bruce's throat, he laughed himself almost completely over the edge both hands flailing for the Joker.
He screamed and screamed as the Joker fell. The Joker himself was laughing, grinning in apparent vigor. He fell with life, he fell with glory. And Batman stood with pain.
The sound of the Joker's laughs echoed over the mist and water, the sound went on and on over and over, louder and softer, everywhere.
The vivid purple and green faded into the gray of rising fog.
Batman crumpled to his knees and screamed again. Something had just been ripped out of him. After five years over fighting and games and torture and insomniac dreams, he was just gone.
A growl was building in his stomach and seemed to be stuck in his throat. Batman leaned his head on the concrete railing and swallowed a feeling.. it wasn't grief, more like rage.
With weary, bone-tired fingers he picked up a radio from his belt.
"Alfred." He said, his voice cracking.
There was static from the other end and then a hasty beep. "Master Wayne?" The proper British Bruce would smile but for the heat and weariness and the scream that still seemed to be stuck on the tip of his tongue.
"Pick me up at the Gotham dam."
There was a pause and Alfred came across loud and clear. "Is everything alright sir?"
"Just... Please get here Alfred."
Bruce knocked his head on the concrete and switched his radio off. He needed some sleep. He was just tired. That was all.
This felt like a dream, detached and floating he seemed to hover above three hundred miles of air and water. Earth and death.
The Joker had probably hit the water by now. Did he feel anything?
Jesus...
Skin sack of broken bones, faintly dyed by overuse of make-up.
Bruce felt his stomach heave and he barely made it to the ledge before he was throwing up. His cape hung dark and cold on his back, the weight of it strangled him. It probably wasn't good to have an electric charge around his neck while he was standing over a waterfall. In fact it wasn't good to be standing on the waterfall anyway.
Damn the Joker.
Three Days later a man peered out of a gutter, his hair, blond-turned brown by water, was hanging in wet, stiff strands. His face was handsome, warm brown eyes in a pale, healthy face, and in the darkness you could hardly notice the scars.
Shakespeare time!
Review? Review? Wherefore art my Review?
A Review by any other name would sound as sweet.
Hmmm....
Let's get into the real nitty gritty Shakespeare (These are from memory so be... fair)
All the world's a fandom, and all the people merely characters.
They have their entrances and their exits
And one writer in their time scripts many parts
The first being: Augh.. I forget the rest...
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