Disclaimer: I don't own The Dark Knight, but I do own Gotham Stars and the Bruce Wayne Interview.

Chapter Nine: Joker

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I sit back on my bed with my newly-acquired fine literature, Gotham Stars, flipping through it until I find what I'm looking for.

There. "AN INTERVIEW WITH BRUCE WAYNE: GOTHAM'S HOTTEST". I chuckle at the title, then find myself stopping as I get a good look at my Bat-pretending-to-be-a-boy, too-good-to-be-true, smiling at the photo camera like he was made for it.

Even I have to admire his taste. A single-piece suit the color of an oil spill fits him as tight as a glove. Only Armani for Brucie, eh? His hands are resting on his knees as he stares jovially out at me from behind the glossy prison of society. Of course, his hair is slicked back to let the readers see more of that fine face.

I turn the page, deciding that staring too long would segue into a fun, but unproductive, half hour. I can do that later.

On to the interview.

Just like I hoped, it's full of little, inane details about "hunky" Bruce Wayne—his favorite color (black), his idol as a child (Zorro—good choice), and my personal favorite, "what is your ideal date?"

His response? "A candlelit dinner on my yacht."

I laugh and laugh, slapping my knee at the mental image of Batman eating candles for dinner, on a squeaky-clean boat. In full gear. Now that's a joke.

My mind suddenly focuses on one object alone, and reluctantly I let myself run with it. I…don't have much choice, you see. I just…go with it.

Candles…C-A-N-D-L-E-S. Wax. Good for torturing people. Scars…wanna know how I got 'em? Lover got a little crazy one night…said I wasn't enjoying it enough…hot wax. Candles are seen as, ah, "phallic" by some people. They melt, though, so what does that mean? Fire melts marshmallows if you aren't careful. Crispy is best…

Suddenly everything snaps back into focus again. I'm on the floorinstead of the bed, one hand still holding the magazine, nearly ripping it apart, while the other is clutching my knee tightly enough to make me wince.

So. Back to the interview.

Batsy's got all the bases covered, it seems: favorite movie? "I'm not too sure." Favorite book? "I don't read—except for business briefs." Favorite music? "It varies."

Quite the sneaky little devil. And I thought I was secretive.

I slowly stand up and take one of the crayons from my workbench and underline certain…key phrases in Batsy's charming answers. The Plan is slowly taking a clearer form.

Yes, a Plan. Remember: anything for Batsy.

Once I have the information I need, I stuff the magazine into my workbench drawer and decide to call it a day. Tomorrow's gonna be…eventful.