Bruce Wayne had just become Batman, as he would every single night of his not so recent existence. He had been wandering the streets, running on the walls and alleys, looking for some malignant activity to defeat. Jim Gordon and him had recently resolved a case, but he was already missing the turbulences. He was living for the fights against crimes and injustices and, paradoxically, when he couldn't find any, his thoughts would scrape against each other, making his mind painfully abrasive.
Was it true then? Was Batman the one to unconsciously provoke madness and criminality to dissociate from his own existence and fears? Was the chaos he was fighting against necessary to his own survival? That is was a reporter implied in a radio show which Alfred shut immediately.
Bruce has been deeply affected by what has been said, and the butler's move only confirmed his doubts. New doubts, new problematics, new demons now were added to the many links enfolding and smothering his mind.
This night, as he was slowing down his race so he could observe the city of Gotham from its rooftops, he visited the outside of his juridiction. Une sweet melody caught his attention. Some hit notes, resonating and with a wide range of octaves rang in the night. Gotham was never quiet at this hour but this time, nothing seemed to require the intervention of the dark archangel. This was the reason why he let his heavy body join the sound of the chords who sounded like they were made of velvet, feathers and honey.
The piano chimed sadly a melody Bruce could only recognize and appreciate: Spring Waltz from Chopin. As the murmur came closer and wrapped each cell necessary to his earring to function, showed up before his eyes a big abandoned hostel. A warning sign preventing from trespassing because of unsanitary conditions was half falling, hanging poorly on the wall. One would have easily guessed the unsanitary state without being told so... if the hostel once had been luxurious, the now ramshackled and naked windows argued against this fact.
The waltz ended on a sigh from the unattended listener who entered the forbidden place. Disappointed and hit right in his heart by this bruising silence, he wandered a little bit further where he shouldn't have go. As if one was helping him navigate to reach his goal, a new melody ringed. This time, an adaptation of the Sentimental Waltz from Tchaïkovsky started to play. His emotions involuntarily matched the valse's ones before he continued his way by taking up the stairs furtively.
He arrived in a room whose old molded wallpaper's extremities were curling up. A whole on the floor gave him a visual access to the room where the soloist was letting himself go to his own personal pleasure. He leaned curiously upon the hole for him to see a immense empty ballroom. Except for a side buffet and a couple of broken stools humid from the mold, but most importantly a full dusty Grand piano. As it was closeted, Batman assumed its crutch was broken.
Once again, the music change matched the Bat's movements. Silence from Beethoven was chiming in the decrepited room. He slipped silently through the dusty opening, balanced himself on a solid beam and came closer to the piano and its mysterious user. Such softness, such feelings emanated from this almost cosmic play. Right above the impressive instrument, he recognised the artist with a terror diminished by the melancholic melody.
A skin almost as pale as the piano's keys, a desaturated purplish suit, green hair tarnished by the room's atmosphere... there was no doubt possible on his identity. One thing was left to know. Why was the Joker playing piano with such presence and abandon in a Gala costume only him could own, when he should have been resting in Arkham Asylum? He was smiling slightly, eyes closed until he played the last musical phrase and the ultimate chords died under his fingers. A delightful sigh, then a glance at the ceiling where Batman was standing like a gargoyle. The glance's target stepped back in a automatic reflex, but didn't panic.
He simply followed the glance addressed to him fall back to the yellowish keys, and some fingers diligently rest upon it. This time, the music choice made his heart vibrate the same intensity as the piano chords under the hammer's mellow knock. Love Melody by Beethoven. A sick love declaration nonethelss hard not to appreciate.
Thanks to his grapple, he went down with a spectacular and almost dramatical slowness to the closed Grand piano which cracked slightly after his landing. A knee down, the other one against his chest, his cape covering the dust it partially moved; he watched the musician from behind his mask. His lids patterned with purple and pink veins were closed as he continued to play what looked with less and less doubt like an implicit declaration.
Of all persons on earth, of all the most beautiful love demands, it *had* to be Joker to do it the best. Touched to the deepest of his soul by the enchanting melody, he let his eyes soak and translate his feeling to the interpreter.
Without paying attention, he abandoned himself into the contemplation of the smiling face which was suddenly looking angelic. The beauty of the music contaminated the way he viewed him like a sick halo effect.
The Joker was playing for him a love song, accidentally lighted by the bright chandelier as Batman was tacitly accepting these unpronounced words. A tear escaped from his eye and wet his mask, then marked the piano by the dust it trapped in itself.
Once again, the last sounds died, the fingers withdrawn, but the smile remained.
After a long silent imposed by none of them, the Joker raised his eyes dressed up with long bright lashes, implicitly opening the dialogue with his guest. The night archangel, throat tied, half-opened his lips to do his job a very particular way in comparison to his previous arrests.
Softly, almost paternally, his voice imperceptibly shaking, he said:
"Shouldn't you be in Arkham?"
The Joker rolled the pump of his fingers upon the keys without playing them, then blinked slowly. He leaned on the keyboard and romantically watched the huge mass above him. He nodded and continued fiddle on the keys with his left hand.
Batman sighed.
"You know I'll have to get you there now, don't you?"
The Joker sit up straight and succinctly stretched his back before gauging the layer of dust with the tip of his finger.
"No need, my Love. I'll return myself before the guard even notice my absence, as I regularly do."
Batman got surprised his interlocutor's voice sounded as sweet as the previously played songs. He assumed Joker's gentle escape wasn't his first and only, but hesitated to do his job as he would normally do. He also straightened up his heavy chest and got closer to the music stand. The clown didn't realise until he looked up again. He suddenly imagined playing "red light, green light" with...a big cat. He giggled to this thought and bit his lips. The deformed voice got louder.
"I'm giving you one last chance. If you don't comeback tomorrow, I'll come get you myself, and will report you.
- of course Batsy... I'll be good."
He bent his heavy body, trying to be intimidating while Joker raised his chin. He stole a prude kiss which made his receiver step back like a confused kitty. He blinked and played a sad improvised melody. His left hand would impersonate Batman; his heavy ascension to the high notes which represented the clown.
"You've been slow to find me. I was hopping to make you enjoy this beautiful instrument."
Understanding the potential Joker's intentions, the detective suddenly got conscious of his spoon state and the favour he was doing to a well known criminal. So, he decided it was the time for him to run away and let the Joker take the chance that was given to him.
"Go back to Arkham"
And, once again, as he was running away, the fingers from Joker's left hand ran in staccato to the lower keys while the higher ones cried out their loneliness. Once again alone in the night, he played some melancholic melodies until the last minutes he could enjoy freely. After that, he came back to his cell where he fell asleep, a peaceful smile on his face.
He promised he would get back, but not that he would stay... There were so many musics left to let him discover, so many sighs and tears left to strip away from him... yes, he *knew* they would meet again in this old hostel, and that they would form on of the most... melodic duo.