A/N: I've been busy. College shopping...TDKR... Late chapter. Short chapter. There is a time skip here of a few weeks, but it's mentioned. Now on my fourth notebook for this story.
So the poll has been closed, and Jonathan will be dealing with the Mob situation in high school and in the future. YAY! But I've edited it a little bit. See A/N at the end of the chapter.
IMPORTANT FOR ALL READERS: As you may or may not have guessed, I'm stopping the dream sequences. They'll probably be edited out of the story as well. But the damage has been done, so you lucky ones know what's in store for Ames' future. I have my reasons for doing this. PM me if you'd like me to explain myself.
Because of Crane's appearance in The Dark Knight Rises, this story is going to be longer than I though. WHOO!
HOLY, HOLY REVIEWS BATMAN! My eyes are STILL the size of dinner plates. Thanks to Dance Elle Dance, Fan O' Fanfic, Lutzus, Shade77, PurgatoryNymphe, Half Of A Whole, Belle of Roses, thrufirewithoutaburn, Red-Dragon-Thorn, Fox Alder, Reyelle, Princess Lady Subaru, Arlena4815162342, SilhouetteGypsy, NessieXnessie, Mystress of Mayhem, Lokelani87, tribute14, LostGirl97, CND, C0nt0rt3dM1nd, Natulcien, Hench-Girl95, Guest, Comidia Del Arte, Guest, Nefeli Psycho, Decepticon-silverstreak, Guest, TonightWeDieRomantic, Hawthorn Tree, My Beautiful Ending, darkdeadmau5, Drake, xTheDoctorsCompanion, kaflute14, pourquoibella, Guest, SladeRavenFan, Miss Magenta Lestrange, Eva Sirico, Knightrunner, Indigo Scrawl, and InLoveAndCrazy for all the reviews. I'm sorry if I missed anyone or forgot to get back to them. I also got a BUTTLOAD of faves and alerts. THANK YOU!
Movie Recommendation: Pirate Radio. Funny as hell. Heartwarming, too. Also, Bronson. With Tom Hardy.
"I didn't fall, I attacked the floor," "man cave," and "loins" are words and phrases that never fail to make me laugh. Ehehehe…
This chapter is dedicated to thrufirewithoutaburn for once having finished reading this story, went back and reviewed every chapter. In a way, this is also dedicated to the victims of the Aurora, Colorado shooting. My thought and prayers go out to all who need them. Let's not make it about Batman please. Holmes deserves to rot in hell, munching Adolf Hitler's ass, and I won't lose sleep over it.
Disclaimer: I do not own Jonathan Crane, Gordon, Falcone, Batman Begins, The Dark Knight, or The Dark Knight Rises. Nor the lyrics used at the beginning of my chapters. I have no money, so don't waste your time… Do you think you could let me borrow Bane for a little bit? ^_^
Chapter Twenty-Eight: The Judge of All the Earth
I came out of the darkness
With a bullet in my hand.
I got one more shot at living';
I'm lucky that I can.
'Cause I got a little roughed up.
Yeah, I really got fucked up. I came out of the darkness
With a bullet in my hand.
~Redlight King, Bullet in My Hand
It seems that if you don't pay attention, if you turn your head for only a moment, life takes you by surprise and bites you in the ass. Bam! Smack dab in the middle of October. True, only a few weeks have passed. But geez, where has my life gone?
Seized with a recurring plague of another unexplainable, sleepless night, I lay in bed at one in the morning and wonder what's wrong with me. This whole week, filled with insomnia. Actually, I'm not quite sure when it started. Unable to get relief from the tiredness that makes your body unable to function properly. Sure, this has happened before, this restlessness. A spot now and then. A day here and there.
But nothing consecutive. Not like this.
Feeling panicky, I roll onto my side and stare out my closed window. And I ask myself the same question I've asked myself every day this week. "Why can't I sleep?" I whisper.
No, no nightmares. I don't dream at all now, actually. It seems like I've stopped dreaming—any kind of dream, really—since Naomi's death, which is behind me and is still an unresolved burden. I simply no longer have them.
It's a thought that disturbs me.
I'd rather have nightmares. I have no other reason for being awake other than that when in bed, I'm alert. Restless. And then it hits me during the day, and I cannot sleep then.
My body had better not shut the hell down. My life is whizzing by, and I'm half-awake for it. Sleep deprivation? Not good.
I'm amazed that I feel so…helpless. I should tell Mom. Buy some cold medicine to knock myself out with. Eat stuff like oatmeal before bed,
Ugh. Then why haven't I done it? Because I'm trying to, say, kill myself? To see if I can outlast it?
Definitely not the first time I've had sleep problems. First time they've been so extensive.
I hear a voice from outside, and it snaps me out of my reverie. My ears perk up. There it is again. I strain to detect it. Muffled. Sounds like…a woman. Coming from far away. A distance. Like, from across the cornfield.
Is it—?
No. Oh, no.
Sitting bolt upright, I swing both legs over the side of my bed, alive, and dart to my window. Closed, because in mid-October, it gets very chilly in the night. I jerk the miserable thing up in one motion, and a blast of cold air hits me in the face.
But not as hard as what hits my ears.
"YOU WILL RSPECT ME, YOU DEVIL SPAWN!" Geraldine Crane's voice echoes through the night. My heart drops into my stomach. "UNGRATEFUL BRAT! YOU WERE LUCKY I WAS KIND ENOUGH TO TAKE YOU IN AFTER MY WHORE OF A DAUGHTER, YOUR SLUT OF A MOTHER, DIED! SHE ABANDONED YOU!"
Consecutive slaps. An all-too-familiar sound. I'm poised by the window, seized and frozen in place with some sort of sick curiosity. This has been happening almost our whole lives, but am I yearning to hear what's next? What can I do, anyhow?
"YOU ARE A SINNER! YOU'VE BEEN TAKING ADVANTAGE OF MY WEAK HEART AND POOR CONDITION!"
Oh my lord. She knows about him seeing me. Or going about as he pleases. Maybe he wasn't using my escape route. Maybe, with her holed up on the couch with her hip, he'd been using the front door. Maybe she doesn't know.
Another bout of shouting comes. Quieter this time. "But I'm healed, boy. And the time will come when you will be purified of your sins!"
It's been a few months since she broke her hip. Did I really expect her to stay that way forever? The blissful silence is over, and I have a cause to worry again.
Her witchy voice comes again, and I jump, taken by surprise with the sudden volume.
"…LAZY, SLOVENLY PIG! NEGLECTING YOUR CARE OF ME AND YOUR HOME! FRATERNIZING WITH THAT BITCH, THAT GIRL, NO DOUBT!"
That, at least, is the truth. Among other things he's been doing. I'm still remembering that instance with Paul a while back. So strange… I suppose I should be flattered; the creep's been staying away from me recently, after all.
"Fight back, Jon. C'mon," I whisper out into the cold night air. This is so painful. For both of us. She's got a walking stick. It's not fair for him; that thing can split skulls. I get the worst mental image EVER.
I stay by the window for the next half hour, listening. And well, staring. At the tree below my window. Debating. Do I need to interfere? To go rescue him? I've almost got one sweatpanted leg up on the windowsill.
Wait it out.
I do, and the shrieking eventually stops. That's not what I'm listening for. I pause a little bit longer, and then nod my head, satisfied. "Ok," I whisper, and crawl back to my bed.
What had I heard? Nothing. Nothing more. It's the cause of my present relief. Geraldine may be back (I'd wondered where she'd been), but she's not feeling up to the physical torturing of Jonathan. After her fit subsided, I'd heard no slamming doors, no creaking barn doors…and no crows. No crows. And so for tonight, Jonathan is all right. I realize that it's only going to be so long before he snaps. Even someone like Jonathan can't endure this for too long before he goes crazy, in one form or another.
But maybe he's stronger than I give him credit for.
Back in bed, I sigh, trembling. Sleep will not come. Not even after tonight. This morning, I mean. Today is Friday.
It feels like someone has taken my eyelids and glued them back against my brow bone. My body is humming with the urge to rise up and do something. But I restrain myself and stay put, unexplainably awake until dawn.
"So Jonathan, how's your grandmother?" I ask casually at lunch later that day. Or maybe not so casually. I've been staring at his fresh bruises for the past fifteen minutes.
He hikes up the collar of his olive green sweater and glowers at me. Leave it alone, he seems to say. Light glints off his round glasses in warning. He'd gotten a new pair about a week ago, and somehow they had survived this early morning's attack.
Do you really expect him to want to talk about it? I ask myself bitterly, watching my friend reopen one of his many thick books. Those have been making more appearances as well. Different, but nothing out of the ordinary for Jonathan. The norm, including topics of every kind of psychology practice imaginable, hallucinogens, and…yes, the occasional book on fear.
That is a fascinating subject in and of itself.
A few days ago, I'd managed to snag one away from him during lunch and flip through it, with Jonathan very nearly diving across the table after it. One of the only ones that I've nabbed from him that had actually interested me. That and Extreme Depravities of the Human Mind.
Things between us are…quiet today. Probably because he knows that I heard the beating session last night. Ignoring me won't make it go away. I pick the crusts off the grilled cheese sandwich on my tray, prepare to eat it, and then switch to pineapple.
A wave of exhaustion hits me, and I yawn. Loudly, before smothering it with the back of my hand. Yikes, I think sleepily, blinking my eyes. I'm crashing. Twenty seconds later, my mouth stretches open again, even wider. Ever more volume to this one. My eyes water.
Jonathan looks up from his book with a scowl.
"Sorry," I say. But it happens once more, and he glances at me curiously. My head feels like it weighs a good ton, and I plop it into my palms for support before it comes crashing down on the table. I'm definitely picking up some cold medicine after school. I can't go on like this.
How can I function without sleep? I've got a job to go to this weekend. I want to cry tears of frustration.
I must've let out a little moan of despair, because Jonathan sets his book aside and scans me, taking in and analyzing my condition. He can tell that this is more than just one sleepless night.
I drop my hands and gaze back at him, face forlorn and all my movements sluggish, like all have been today. I can feel the bags under my eyes weighing me down. And if my crappy appearance doesn't give anything away, my slow disposition will, sweatshirt and sweatpants aside.
Crane says nothing, so I stare off into space and within minutes, find my eyelids fluttering shut. My head sags forward.
"Ames!" I start awake at the sound of Jonathan's raised voice and blearily gather myself enough to see him looking quite alarmed for someone like him.
"Did I just doze off?" I ask stupidly. He nods. "God, Jonathan, I'm sorry; I don't know what's wrong with me." Another yawn cracks my face open. I want to cry. Again. I know I look as tired as I feel.
The expression of alarm is replaced with one of pondering. Doctor mode. Crane leans forward, hands folded, and the bruise on his pale cheek livid. "Ames, have you been sleeping?"
I sigh. "Well…no," I answer truthfully. "Not this whole past week. I mean, sure it would happen every once in a while, but it's gotten worse." I'm pretty miserable now, actually. Is there a reason to panic?
Only Jonathan's mouth moves. "Nightmares?"
I shake my head. "I don't dream."
"Caffeine before bed?"
"No."
Drained, I answer all of Crane's other questions as he attempts to diagnose my condition. "Are you on any medications?"
"Nope."
Television before bed?"
"No." Are we done yet? I wonder wearily. Surely I can catch some sleepy time during lunch here… "I've already said that I haven't been sleeping for a while. Maybe it's a condition."
Jonathan leans back against his chair, adjusting his glasses and raking a hand through his overlong, greasy hair. He's frowning at me. Sweet of him to try and diagnose me, I idly think. I am so tired…I must be delirious.
Through my sagging posture, I try to force my lips into a grim smile. "Thanks for trying though."
Crane scoffs at his failure. "Well, I suggest you get tested for insomnia, among other things…"
WHAT?
I crush down my self-righteous anger and shrug at him. For all I know, there could be a mental disorder, undetected, running rampant in my mind. I know that Jon (Jonathan!) meant that as a jab at my mental state. Grow up, Ames.
I let it go. "You're probably right," I tell him. I'm too exhausted to argue. My grades haven't been hot this week, either. All from a lack of sleep.
Silence between us once more. My eyelids droop again. Drool pools around my lips. Crane reaches for his book as my head gets so…heavy…
WHACK!
I give a little cry and jump out of my nap. I see Jonathan, still frozen in his position. Half out of his chair, arm extended, hand palm-down on the table a foot in front of me.
I rub my eyes and mumble another apology. Crane had slapped the table this time to wake me. If only he'd stop it. Disappointed in myself, I pinch the bridge of my nose.
"Entertain me." The words tumble out of my mouth before I can stop them. I'm a little mortified that I've made such a demand of him, but I can't take it back now that it's been said.
Our gazes bore into each other. He frowns. "What?"
A second chance. I rephrase my request. "Keep me awake. Please."
He shakes his head and clears his throat. "Not my forte."
"Please," I beg, wishing I could pull off the wounded puppy look. "I've got a test over The Great Gatsby fifth period. I need to be awake. Please." C'mon girl, don't cry…don't cry… I don't.
"Pick a topic. I'll do my best."
"If I snooze and fail the test, don't blame yourself," I weakly choke out, pulling my hair. "It's not life or death. I'm sure Freddy's not coming for me or anything."
Jonathan has that look on his face that says quit-your-babbling-I-don't-understand-because-I-don't-care-stop-before-I-analyze-you-to-death. I shut up. Not mature.
"Topic?"
I have to speak now. I discretely pinch myself, hoping that the quick stab of pain will fire up my brain. "Ow. So, um, Halloween's in two weeks." Why I had chosen that as a conversation starter, I'll never know.
Keeping a conversation that doesn't involve arguing a point is clearly not Crane's area of expertise. "Oh?" he says. He's shifting around, clearly out of his comfort zone. His mature voice, hesitant.
I yawn again. "Yeah. I usually get excited for it. There's just something about it." I rub my fingers across my eyes.
Jonathan pulls his shirtsleeve down. "I'm not a follower of religion, despite Grandmother, so I see holidays as frivolous things. Silly." I fix the table with my stare and raise my eyebrows at it, instead of him. No surprises there… "But I have to admit, I favor Halloween above the others."
I smile. "Why?"
"I can't explain it." And I was hoping I could get him to open up a bit…this is as close as we've come to a casual conversation. I realize that he knows far more about me than I know about him. It's sad.
I take a wild guess, loving that I'm finally finding something out about him, personally, as a person, and not about his past or current situation. "Something to do with fear, or how people's minds seem to run differently? How people can change on that night?"
His full upper lip curls. "Something like that."
Good enough, for today. Feeling my energy and life-force getting sucked out of me with every second that passes, I put Crane out of his misery. "Here. I've got suggestion." It's one I'd forgotten about, an idea I'd had a while back.
Crane looks exasperated. "Let me hear it." This whole thing is ridiculous to him.
I grin lopsidedly. "You'll love this." I try to look more awake. "I want you to run a personality profile on me." My eyes light up—I can't help it! I actually want to know the impression that I leave on him.
And god forbid, his eyes sparkle at the idea, too. But then it's gone before I can blink, replaced with the all-too-familiar smooth mask. "Do you really want me to do that?" It sounds like a warning, coming from him.
Just keep me awake… I don't give it a second's though. "Yup."
He leans forward even more. "Can you take it?" he whispers, almost mischievously.
He's going to rip me apart, I realize, too late. And I'm not going to like hearing it. I lift the corner of my downturned mouth and look at Jonathan's energized face with weary eyes. "Come at me." I shrug. He's going to throw out a whole thesaurus of adjectives. What have I gotten myself into?
I will myself to endure and not open my mouth to protest. Can someone be tired and on high alert at the same time?
Crane's smirk is slow to form, but it worries me. Can someone like him look…gleeful? "I warned you."
I sigh. "You did."
The way those azure eyes scrape over me lets me know that he'll be monitoring my reactions the entire time. Swell. Real swell. I'll do my best to be bored then.
"Impulsive," is the first word out of his mouth. "You act without thinking of consequences." I've accepted this one as true, so it all but bounces off me. Crane laces his fingers together and rests his chin upon them. "You can act childish. Prone to moodiness. Whiny. Stubborn. Falsely modest. Cynical. Hypocritical. Quick to judge."
Will he mention any of my good qualities? I wonder, cringing. He's just getting started, and I'm already feeling uncomfortable.
"Short-tempered. You can be quiet and withdrawn, but opinionated and loudmouthed. Overly prideful, at times. Paranoid. Temperamental."
He's going easy on me. Right. Because he's not twisting my brain around and making me go nuts.
Jonathan's facial expression is one of enjoyment now. "You're brave but stupid. You have a hero streak in you that apparently makes you want to save everyone. But then you're quick to take a stab at others. Overall, you're pessimistic. You complain about your personal problems, and then expect no one to understand them."
I'm closing my eyes; I don't want to hear this. It hurts. "Well, I'm an introvert," I mumble, hoping that he'll catch it. He does. I swipe a hand across my mouth.
"Brash. Hotheaded. You've got a mild superiority complex and hold contempt for most of the world." And he doesn't? Jesus. I put my head in my hands. "Quick to snap at others if it means justifying yourself or saving your own skin. You won't pass up on an opportunity to show off. You criticize me for being reclusive, but you're the same."
My face is burning. And I keep my mouth shut. Instead, I let my head drop from my hands to the table. Everything's' getting thrown in my face. Guess I asked for it. My idea.
Doesn't mean that I'm not begging to be shot.
"But luckily for you—and I can't say this for most people—you have a few redeeming qualities."
I'm wide-awake. My head snaps up, and I stare at Crane with big eyes. Oh, he is really enjoying this. He looks positively alive. "You have passion. You have heart. You're brave. Unpredictable. You stand your ground. And you're not entirely ignorant. Or brainless."
Thanks a lot, I want to say, but remind myself that Jonathan doesn't say nice things lightly. It sounds as if the words are coming out from between clenched teeth. Each one resembles an insult, actually.
Unfortunately, despite the slight turning-up of his nose, his feminine face is unreadable. A cold, hard expression.
"You have spirit. And care about those close to you. Like me." His voice drops to a cool whisper, and my face softens. Finally. Jonathan sits back in his chair again, away from the table. "You've also matured some this past month; it makes you more bearable to be around."
And at that last word, with perfect timing, the bell rings and the lunch period ends.
I feel supercharged. I stand up, grab my tray, and start to smile. "Thank you, Jonathan. I needed to hear those things." It's a part of growing up. "Maybe I'll pass my test now," I add.
Jonathan…just looks confused at my cheeriness.
As I empty my tray, I'm happy. Though Crane had dished out more criticism that compliments, two words stick in my head and ring there. Like me, he'd said. And care about those close to you.
Like me.
I feel like a schoolgirl with a crush. Like me.
Jonathan has just admitted that I care about him. That he knows I do. And apparently, he also knows that he's close to me, and vice versa. He truly doesn't know how close he is, but he's aware of it, and has admitted that he's aware of it. THIS is currently the reason for the stupid grin on my face.
I know that the rest of my Friday will go a lot smoother than it has been. I might just stay awake.
Cold medicine works miracles, I think when I go into work the next day, half-refreshed by a somewhat decent night's sleep. My merry thoughts stop, and I'm quite surprised to see about six GCPD cars lining the street. Suddenly becoming the best driver in the world, I pull into the employee section of the Gotham Community Library's parking lot with extra care. There are almost twenty police out and about, but I don't see any around the library. At the moment.
I pull the sleeves of my navy turtleneck down around my wrists, wishing I'd brought a jacket because the weather's been so cold. For October.
I get curious. Dead leaves crunch under my feet as I stroll to the front of the library and down the sidewalk a ways to see what the cops are up to. They're hard to see in detail, in their dark uniforms.
They all appear to be…investigating. This is a quiet street to begin with. And the peace is being disrupted. It seems like most of them are sniffing around alleys and establishments up the street. A few cops are knocking on the doors of homes.
Asking questions.
I frown and hug myself as I stare at them all. What's popped up so suddenly that this area would be so flooded by the city's police department? I remind myself that I've arrived at the library with a few minutes to spare and am probably late for my shift by now.
Curious. Very curious. I'm going to have to explain my tardiness to Mr. Kipling, but hopefully, my reason will catch his interest, and I'll have a story to tell. I turn around with a thoughtful look on my face and start to make my way back to the library's wide entrance. A few unsupervised children sitting on the benches outside ogle at me with big eyes, waiting for their mothers or babysitters, as I draw near.
"Hello there!" I stop in my tracks and glance up to see a friendly-looking cop strolling in my direction. He gives me a small wave, and nervously, I wait for him to approach. Everyone feels like a criminal whenever the police are around.
"Hi," I say quietly when he's finally before me. I feel very small and cast my eyes to the ground, and my hand goes to rub the back of my neck. What does he want?
Wait. I've heard that voice before.
I jerk my head up and my eyes land on the cop's face. "I know you!" I blurt out accidentally before my cheeks turn red.
It's the cop from the protest that day. What was his name? I rack my brain for answers.
Gordon. Officer Gordon. That's it. The mildly shocked expression on his face shows that he remembers me as well. "Well, hello again." He stares. I stare back. Is he in his late thirties or early forties? I can't decide. He's an attractive man, in a fatherly handsome sort of way. A comforting, reassuring aura. And the warmest pair of eyes I've ever seen. Gordon's whole person draws me in. Even without knowing him, this is someone I can trust. The one good cop.
I feel…safe. For the first time in a while. I've probably taken a few steps closer to him than I should have. I'm exactly two inches taller than he is.
"Well, you're in a different part of town today," Officer Gordon continues, after a while, seemingly forgetting why he'd walked up to me. "What're you doing here?" He waves a hand at the building behind us.
I turn around and look, teasing as I turn back. "What, is it unusual for a girl to be at the library?" I raise an eyebrow and my eyes move past the mustached police officer to scan over the ones investigating up and down the street. "The question is, what are you and your unit doing here?"
Gordon starts. "Ah yes." He pulls a pen and small notebook from the pocket of his dark uniform. "I saw you watching us from up the street. Miss, I was wondering if you'd be willing to answer a few questions." His voice keeps its naturally calm tone.
I forget about getting to work on time for now and breathe air onto my forehead, curiosity peaking. So they are investigating. "About what?" I ask, eyes bright.
Gordon's fingers smoothe over his neat mustache as he blows my world away with his next sentences. "We're looking for Carmine Falcone. Crime rates have gotten bad, and now even a cop's dead because of the Mob. We need to take him down."
It's too late to hide my reaction. My jaw goes slack, my eyes widen, and I freeze, heart pounding out of my chest and no longer breathing. A normal bystander would've shown only a slight interest; Gordon sees my reaction before I can crush it. Knowing that he knows, I blurt out automatically, "I don't know anything." I shake my head.
It's a lie, an obvious lie, and Officer Gordon sees through it easily. He's not suspicious, but seems taken aback by how frightened I suddenly am. "I didn't ask."
So Falcone has been busy. I bite my lip and look at Dad's watch on my wrist. Ten past twelve. Crap. "Sir—Officer Gordon—please, I'm late for work." I gesture desperately at the library behind me.
I can't help. I can't rat. Falcone will come after me. Somehow. Again. Remaining anonymous is out of my mind right now.
Gordon gives me searching look. "Even a little something helps, young lady," he says sternly. Don't arrest me for withholding information.
I swallow and shake my head some more. "Please, I'm late," I beg. I've been taken by surprise, and I can't think normally. We stare each other down, my eyes panicked and his firm and warm. By some miracle and through some understanding, he lets me go.
Maybe it's my youthfulness, or maybe he can see my broken past and damage. He sighs. "All right." He writes something down in his notebook before tearing the sheet of paper away and handing it to me with a steady hand. "When you're ready to talk, call this number and ask for James Gordon." Him. He gives me another searching look, and I feel guilty. "You know something, girl. At least give me your name."
Thank god I'm not eighteen yet… "Ames Manson, " I croak out immediately. With no reaction, he takes my name down and walks away toward the other officers. He is unhappy. Exasperated, to say the least.
At the same time, I press a hand to my forehead and stare at the number resting in my palm. I'm trying to squash the hope rising within me, and trying not to think about how I might just have gotten my answer.
A/N: Random thought: I've decided that Ames' father looks or looked like Jack Davenport with dark hair. Thank you Pirate Radio…
I have to admit, I'm worried about Ames' sleeplessness for this chapter. It's a few weeks later, so I hope we get the impression that it's been happening for a while. Also, for your mental imagery, Gordon is still young, so he does not have glasses yet at this point in time. By the way, do you think he would've taken Ames in? I know there's going to be some unrest about Ames not talking, but she'll have her second chance to tell her story with that phone number…
There's been some questions about Jonathan and Paul. YES, something has been going on, fear wise. Fear gas? No. Jon is only a high schooler. WORDS, however, are Jonathan's greatest weapon right now. Paul's already messed up in the head, so Crane can make it worse and rip him apart. Let your imaginations run.
Okay, now to the important part. Thanks to Half Of A Whole, I've rethought and edited my plan for Ames, Jonathan, Falcone, Don, and the Mob. She is a life saver by the way. In Batman Begins, it's mentioned that Falcone (as she pointed out) shared a cell with Joe Chill who killed the Waynes… It's not specified how long Falcone is jailed for but it would be between the murder of the Waynes but before Bruce returns to Gotham after college/university. Joe Chill's hearing is at the end of Bruce's first year at Princeton, and he offers to rat on Falcone for a reduced sentence, so Falcone would probably have to go to jail about now. This would set things in motion for Batman Begins and be a nice conclusion to the Mob plot. I'm thinking that sometime, Jonathan can pay Falcone a nice little jail visit and set something up for the future. Those were mostly her words, by the way. Thoughts, because I think that's what I'm going with. I'm still considering having Jonathan take out Don. I know this plot totally tosses the poll I'd made.
Who's excited for The Hobbit? Peter Jackson recently announced on Twitter that there will be three films, instead of two. YES.
Question of the Day: Inspired by The Dark Knight Rises, which Nolan Batman film is your favorite out of the whole trilogy? I HATE TO DO THIS TO YOU!
Speaking of Twitter, if you have it, follow me " hmeskins" for the Batman Quote of the Day and just if you want to get to know your author better. I FOLLOW BACK!
Want good youtube videos? Check out Jeremy Jahns. He does hilarious reviews of movies, and move trailers.
If you've seen The Dark Knight Rises and want to talk about it, PM me. I'm happy to discuss. Those who have not seen it should probably skip this section. SPOILERS AHOY!
So Bane. Bane, Bane, Bane, Bane. I'm in love. Next to Scarecrow, he's now my favorite Batman villain. I don't know, the Joker was a brilliant performance, but…I've never been that impressed by him as a villain. Crucify me. Bane was a little better, in my opinion. Much more of a threat to Gotham and Batman. If you don't think so, don't bring it up here. The brilliant Tom Hardy was unrecognizable, and I even knew he was in the movie! Remember the one scene where he had his shirt off? I couldn't get over how HUGE he was! My first thought was, not that is was hot, but, "Oh my god, that guy can KILL me!" Hardy is now number two on my babe list. And Talia…I hate that demon spawn. When it was revealed who Tate really was, I yelled out, "I KNEW IT!" very loudly. I despise her, but the fact that Bane was in love with her broke my heart. Any time a villain is in love or cries…I just get all sympathetic. *bawls* I never hated Bane. Not. Once. Not even when he broke Batman's back. Probably because that was done so epically. "Ah yes. I was wondering what would break first. Your spirit (hoists him up) or your BODY (CRACK!)." Awesome. AND THAT ENDING! Thanks for the mindf***, Nolan.
P.S. Judge Jonathan was amazing ;) And Anne Hathaway IS Selina Kyle! Like I said, PM me if you want to talk or bitch. I thought the film was amazing. As of now, I've seen in three times. Working on the fourth. No Marvel vs. DC crap. I hold both films with equal love.
Review. Review! Fave n' runs make me sad. *sniffle* I will respond! Feedback is…cookies. Just cookies.
