Ethereal Nonsense

Issue #1: "After the Fall"


Disclaimer: Batman and all related themes and characters are the property of DC Comics. I will not claim ownership (no matter how much I would love to) of any of the characters, especially the Joker and the associated Heath Ledger (RIP).


Bang.

Nothing.

Bang.

More nothing.

Bang.

He fell.

And then there was nothing.

"That's a whole lotta nothing..." the battered man smirked, reflecting quietly as he rubbed at the oozing gash at the back of his head and looked about at his nonexistent surroundings.

Nothing.

Vast expances of absolute nothing.

Way to much nothing for him, the Prince of Pranks.

"I'm a picker... I'm a grinner... I'm a lover, I'm a sinner..." he mumbled tunelessly to himself as he picked himself up from the nothingness beneath him and attempted to walk a bit in the nothingness before him. "I'm a joker... smoker... midnight toker..."

There was a slight echo. His empty words reverberated back to him, smothering him with his own hoarse voice. He assumed the voice was his own. After all, whose else could it be, if not his own? There was simply nothing. No one. No where. No thing.

"So... this is hell?" he shouted at the blank space, throwing his arms out in frustration and despair. "What happened to all that eternal spiritual torture? Fire? Pain? Damnation? You promised!"

He continued trudging through the nothing, his shoulders hunched forward in determination, his cold eyes fixed on the nothing beneath his feet. Quickly he grew bored with the concept of nothing and took to, instead of shouting at the nothing, striking up a conversation with the bonafide blankness that blanketed him.

"I guess this could be Limbo, right? I really wasn't all that evil, after all. Looking back, I never even really killed anyone. Well... there was that guy... but he had it coming. And the wounds weren't life threatening, anyway. Okay, and there was that thing with the kid and the crowbar, but I almost felt really bad about that afterward. I did that city way more good that I did bad. I gave them Batman... and the real Harvey Dent. And a better class of criminals, too... almost. I think I died in the end, though. Shame about this suit..." he fingered the tattered lapel and scoffed, "So much for a million dollar stitch-job..."

He stopped and looked up from his feet, hopelessly expecting more nothing.

However, what he saw instead was an unkempt street and a dark dingy alleyway. He glanced down at himself; his purple suit was again in pristine order and his shoes were no longer beated and scuffed. He ran his hands through his scraggly, greasy-green hair, but found it to be clean and thick and rather bouncy.

"Bouncy?!" he shouted at the sky with a sneer, turning from the alley and again through his hands out with a yell, "What is this, What Dreams May Come?!"

"It's the Funny Man!" a gruff voice called out from the alley. Footsteps echoed in the cramped space between the Gotham Theatre and the apartment building beside it, alerting the Joker to an approaching person.

The Prince spun on his heel and cocked an eyebrow at the approaching man, licking his heavily rouged lips and smirking when he at last recognized the figure. "Ah, it's the Batman. We may not have gotten that padded cell together, but at least we've got an eternity. Like I said, Batty, you complete me."

"What are you talking about?" the masked man scoffed and clamped a hand down on the Joker's shoulder, giving him a jarring shake, "What have you been drinking, little brother?"

"Look, I know you're probably all upset about that whole thing with Miss Dawes," he licked his lips and smirked again, "I've gotta tell you, it's not my fault. I'm not the one who rigged it all. I was locked up, as you know, when the whole thing happened."

"Did you forget to take your meds again, Spaz?" a pretty blonde approached from the alley, dusting the street residue off her white lab coat and pinstriped slacks, "Where is all this Miss Dawes crap coming from? Who's she, Bruce, ex-girlfriend?"

"I think he's just been at the bottle again," the 'Batman' shook his head and rolled his eyes, patting the Joker's shoulder before sauntering toward the young woman, "We all know how our little Joker can get after a few rounds with his buddies Jack and Jim."

"Alcohol?" the Prince laughed forcefully out loud, slapping a gloved hand to his knee, "You think a simple shot did this to me? This is a life-long process... Say, do you want to know how I got my scars?"

"Look, kiddo, we all know the real story," the blonde shot him an incredulous look, crossing her arms, "You were playing 'Pirates' in the living room with Bruce, and you were the one who thought it would be a great idea to make it as real as possible. So, you grabbed the kitchen knife and held it in your teeth, like all the real pirates do. Then, Bruce hit you with a pillow from behind, you hit the sofa with your face, and bam- blood everywhere. Three weeks of stitches simply fixed your mouth enough so you could eat without your food falling out of your cheeks. Your dad didn't want to get grafts becaust they felt there was a lesson to be learnt in having to live with those happy little scars. That's it. For the sake of reality in a child's game. One month after Bruce took a header down the well; everyone thought you just wanted the attention."

"Bruce?" the Joker guffawed, turning away from the pair, tears running down his face from the laughter which he could not bear to hold in, "Bruce? Next thing you're going to tell me is that I'm actually the second heir to the Wayne fortune, because the only Bruce you could possibly be talking about is the Bruce Wayne... which would fit... It was Mr. Wayne's penthouse apartment. Mr. Wayne's little woman who'd fallen for Harvey. And the way he threw himself after her... the Batman is... Bruce Wayne! Well..." he spun back around, a frenzied smile on his painted face, "Doesn't that just take the cake? Hey, Batman, you're Bruce Wayne! And who's this pretty little thing? Your plucky young sidekick?"

"Wayne? We're not the heirs to the Wayne fortune. We're the heirs of a long line of butlers to the Wayne family. Pennyworth, little brother, Pennyworth," the Batman chuckled throwing one arm around the woman's waist and the other about the Joker's shoulders, "I think he's on something other than the Boozer's Express. What'd you take, kiddo? Coke, acid, meth?"

"Or maybe something's really wrong, Bruce," she looked up at the caped criminal, furrowing her brows, "I'm kind of an expert in psychological issues. What if he's--"

"It's just another cry for attention, Harleen," the Bat replied offhandedly, jostling the purple-suited Prince, "Isn't it, little brother? Just upset because the Big Bad Bat is all over the front page, and you're just mentioned as the sidekick?"

"Something here is very... very..." he pulled himself out of the caped crusader's grasp and quickly stalked down the alley, sneering, "Wrong."


Arkham Asylum-- OR

4:15 am

"It's a miracle he survived that fall," explained the masked surgeon to the golden-haired doctor waiting just outside the operating room; he plied off his gooey rubber gloves and tossed them into the biohazard rubbish bin, "I'm not sure how well he's going to recover at this point, but we've got him heavily sedated for now. We'll call you when he wakes up, Miss Quinzel."

"Thank you," she sighed, casting a glance at the battered and bloodied man lying on the table inside the room; she shuddered at his state. She could hardly tell the difference between preexisting scars and the fresh wounds; tears in his clothing and tears in his flesh all meshed tother in a motley mess. His face terrified and disgusted her. He was terribly mutilated, the worst marring his potentially attractive face; there were dark bruises about his eyes and half-dried blood was caked on his lips and cheeks. Or was that paint? "If he wakes up, you mean?"

"He's a fighter; he'll wake up," the surgeon patted her back after stripping off the operating coat, then slicked his hair back and smiled, "It's only a question of when."


(A/N: So, back in the saddle again. I'm starting a new story without finishing up all the old ones. So sue me. Not really... could I just get off with a slap on the wrist for this one??? Anyway, it's a bit blurry at the beginning, I guess, so I'll clear a few things up really quick: 1) this is a story that I'm actually writing for a comic that I'm drawing, which is why this is "issue #1" not "chapter 1", 2) "Bang" illustrates a shot being fired by the SWAT team which flooded the building where the Joker had staked himself during his last scene in "DARK KNIGHT"-- remember, at this point the Joker is suspended over Gotham and laughing, 3) This is my way of cleaning up the whole "How do we take care of the Joker now that Heath is [sob] gone?". Hope that helps a bit; if not feel free to comment in that regard, or send me a message. R&R as always. Much love, Lexxi)


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