SwordStitcher-I didn't ask. He told me, in a rather...roundabout way. And you'd have to ask him what happened to her. There's so many rumors...I've heard one about a live dissection, and another involving steadily removing the oxygen from the room. Whatever happened, it wasn't pretty.
Just-Me-and-My-Brain-I try. Now, if only I could mute-or kill, but I'll settle for mute-the Joker, cripple the Batman, and kill the Riddler while making it look like an accident, life would be perfect. Ah, well, one day, perhaps. Until then, I'll have to settle with keeping nosey writers out of my business.
Ah, Christmas. His least favorite holiday, save for one thing-their own little tradition of giving each other gag gifts to open on Christmas Eve. Usually they're back in Georgia for this, but they couldn't quite make it out of Arkham in time to get there, so the Richardsons went home to visit other relations.
"Go on, open it."
"It's not a pack of rubber roaches again, is it?"
"No."
"You promise?"
"Would I lie to you?"
"Yes."
He rolls his eyes and motions for her to open it up. She pokes it a couple of times, reaches back for her Xact-o, and tugs on the ribbon. It doesn't give and she ends up slicing it.
"Are you going to take all day?"
"Now I'm scared! What's in here?"
He shrugs and leans back against the wall, peeling an orange.
"Forgot."
She finally unwraps it, stares for a minute, and bursts out laughing.
"You got me a plush Batman?"
He nods. Why they make such a thing is a mystery to him. (They also make a plush Joker. He's grateful he was spared the indignity.)
"Oh, my god…can I use it as a Voodoo doll?"
Visions of a suffering Batman dance through his head. Mm, such lovely shrieks…one day, perhaps.
"There's something else in the box."
"Oh, god…"
"It's not a rubber roach, I swear."
Although there is one in her actual present. What? It's tradition.
She pulls out a holiday-themed lighter.
"Ceremonial burning?"
"Mm-hm."
They leave the warm (ish) room and go outside. It's snowing. Ugh. He hates snow. He'll tolerate the cold, but snow? Snow is horrible. And it brings out scores of children.
They spend the next few minutes clearing a place and, as a joke, giving the now-ratty Batman doll a few sprays of fear toxin. Once they've made a pyre, he douses it with lighter fluid and gives the lighter to her.
FWOOSH!
Oh.
Oh, dear.
He was expecting a small fire. What he gets is a bonfire. What on…fear toxin.
"Um…"
"Yeah."
The bonfire doesn't spread, but the smoke does and a few houses down he hears a scream. Is it spreading the toxin? It sounds like it. He'll have to remember this…BAM!
Ow.
"What is this?"
Well. He got here fast.
"Merry Christmas, Bats."
"CRANE."
"We didn't do it on purpose."
He hears sirens in the distance. Next to him, Kitty sneezes and grumbles, "The snow is seeping into my shirt. Let me up."
He does, but only after cuffing them together. Then he goes to the fire and plucks out the now-charred Batman doll.
Five minutes later, they're in the back of the car, speeding towards Arkham once again.
They'll have to do this again next year.
THE END