You want the Story?

Nathan Wallace/Repo! the Genetic Opera-Harry Potter Crossover/A multiversal Bar of Sorts.

Thu, 13 Aug 2009 00:03:24 GMT

This particular version of Nathan Wallace doesn't so much as stumble into the bar as he nearly falls. He's on his feet in an instant however-desperately wishing for his uniform and some kind of anonymity because the Hog's Head is not a place to...

Is not This Place.

You might be familiar with the man who stands just now despite the fact that-in some Universes-Nathan Wallace wouldn't be caught dead wearing floor length robes or a dragon skin vest. (He'd probably do a double take and think you were mental for actually wearing it.)

Never the less, the man now standing in the bar adjusts his thick black glasses and removes a wand (11 inches, cherry with dragon heartstring) from his pocket before giving it a flick.

Ok. No threats.

"...Well."

He'll be standing here staring for awhile if you'd like to say hello.

PERSONAL STUFF: Blog Crews and Ratings

Thu, 25 Sep 2008 22:57:37 GMT

Ratings that I have gotten in communities

THE DARK KNIGHT: tHE SPOOF

Mon, 25 Aug 2008 22:45:47 GMT

Title: The Dark Knight: The Spoof.
Fandom: Batman/Nolanverse
Characters/Pairings: Everyone.
Summary: Batman in Fifteen Minutes (As the phrase goes) failing that call it Batman the Spoof.
Notes: Three things: A-THIS CONTAINS SPOILERS. If you haven’t seen the movie DRIVE TO THE THEATER AND SEE IT. B- I WILL RIFF ON YOU. I riff on EVERYONE, including myself. If you are averse to mocking the numerous teenybopper people who have suddenly fallen in love with anarchy and chaos thanks to Heath Ledger’s Joker DO NOT READ. If you are a fan of HIGH SCHOOL MUSICAL do not read. If you are a GEORGE BUSH SUPPORTER Well, I can pretty well promise some political humor. C- I CANNOT STRESS THAT ENOUGH. I am fully aware that there might be people who find this offensive. I wrote what I’d find funny. If you don’t like it, I’m really sorry but y’know, it’s the Internet. You dun have to read.

Okay. I think I’m done.

After repeated viewings of Batman: The Dark Knight I felt it was a duty to put up a spoof of it. I’m honestly surprised that movies in fifteen minutes hasn’t stepped up quiet yet for this-but when they do (and you’ve gotta believe that they will because Cleolinda is brilliant.) go read THAT one.

This deserves a dedication.

And I’ve thought long and hard about whom I would dedicate this to. My friends for putting up with Batman related Squee for forever. The Internet, for y’know, providing awesome graphics and commentary. The studios because goddamnit they made the thing in the first place and we in the fandom community don’t ever give them enough credit.

Or maybe we do. Maybe we through giving money to a ticketeer and buying twenty dollars worth of snacks are giving them a hell of a lot of credit. In the end, these people are getting paid to dress up and play pretend and maybe well maybe we’re just a little bit jealous. So we watch, we sit back and we watch and then we go home and write spoofs and Fanfiction and try to recapture a bit of the magic that they brought to the screen. It’s hard to forget that they’re not Harry Potter. They don’t have wands or House Elves. We give Hollywood a lot of crap for that all they’ve got is money and that’s something that’s in short supply in the world in general. So we’re jealous, we make fun and we mock them and go home and try to capture some of the magic that they brought us.

In that spirit I figured out exactly who to dedicate it to. Because in the end it’s not just one person it’s an entire company but we value originality. We value people who stand out above the crowd, even in terms of making magic. And rightly so, when a magician leaves our presence we mourn.

The artist paints with critical eye
The actor heaves a lover’s sigh
The writer scripts a story true
The sculptor gives us worlds shaped anew.

But in the end, the artist’s eyes close
The actor looses all their prose
The writer sets their pencil down
The sculptor retreats into the ground

For in the end the watcher’s praise
Is everlasting until the end of days
Bright spots in a human life
Can stave off grief and end all strife.
The artist paints with eyes that close
The actor whispers final prose
The writer leaves a lasting note
The sculptor builds new worlds by route

And when they stand to take their bow
The curtain’s falling, their time is now
We rise with smiles on our face
Speaking for the human Race

Our hands come together
Our cheers are loud
We are a noisy faceless crowd
With praise these artisans are endowed

For though it is never spoken
In art perhaps we see our dreams awoken
Of a better race and a better face
A magical and better place.

(And it of course must be remembered
That in the end all audience members
Are artists too, untrained untaught.
But making sure the work of everyone
Is never, ever forgot.)

It is small. It is insignificant (Hell, it might be inappropriate even) but ladies and gentlemen.

To Heath Ledger.

For getting us so damned interested in this movie in the first place.

TITLECARD: THE DARK KNIGHT.

SUBTITLE CARD: we wanted to call it “Batman: The search for more money” But space balls had already kind of taken it.

WAMU NATIONAL BRANCH-WE MEAN, GOTHAM NATIONAL BANK.

Clown One: OKAY. HANDS UP EVERYBODY, THIS IS A ROBBERY!

Clown Two: You don’t want to mess with us after what we had to do to get in here!

Bank Teller: …you know we’re going to ask now. Did it involve high wire stunts above a crowded highway and sliding in like stuntmen in a Universal Studios Show?

Clown One: …Gotham city was an inspiration behind “Grand Theft Auto Liberty City.” AND WE HAD TO WALK ACROSS THE STREET.

OUTSIDE:

Grandmother: BITCH! I’M GONNA BUST A CAP IN YO-

Pedestrian: oh-

GOTHAMITES: [CHEER] YAY DEATH!

SQUELTCH.

BANK ROOF

Clown three: So what about this guy who planned the job? I hear they call him the Joker.

Clown Four: Why’s that?

Clown three: cause he’s telling jokes all the time. Here what do you call a patsy on a roof about to die?

Clown Four: …Oh-

BLAM.

-AT THE VAULT.-

Clown Five: Jesus Christ! The Vault’s wired with electricity! What kind of bank does that?

Clown Six: Well, it’s either a mob bank or WaMu.

Clown Five: What kind of madman would be nuts enough to rob a freakin’ WaMu?

Clown Six: The same one who told me to kill you once we broke into the vault.

BLAM.

-WOULD YOU LIKE TO MAKE A DEPOSIT MR. CLOWN?-

Clown Seven: Hi, I have an appointment with the manager to rob the bank and humiliate all of you?

Bank Teller: Of course sir, let me see if our manager is availa-

[THERE IS A SOUND OF WORLD EXPLODING SHOTGUN PELLETS.]

Bank Teller: He’ll be right with you. He’s just closed our second account for the day! We’re giving away a free shotgun with every checking account!

Clown eight: What kind of freakin’ bank is this?

-BANK MANAGER-

WILLIAM FITCHNER: [SHOOTS] you maniacs! Don’t you have any idea who you’re stealing from?

[SHOOTS AGAIN]

WILLIAM FITCHNER: [SHOOTS SOME MORE] You feelin’ the Woo-Hoo now bitch? Feeling it now?

-AFTER SUBDUING MINIONS AND BANK MANAGER.-

JOKER/Also known as Clown Eight: SURPRISED?

WILLIAM FITCHNER:. …Does pissed count as surprised?

Joker/AKA Clown Eight: You can’t pull lines like that off. YOU ARE NOT AL PACINO. SAY IT WITH ME NOW-

WILLIAM FITCHNER: Criminals in this town used to believe in things! Honor! Respect! What do you believe in?

JOKER: [REVEALS HIMSELF] I believe in making distracted Goths and people who shop at hot topic pee themselves when I walk on screen. I believe in showing up Jack Nicholson. And Most of all, I believe that whatever doesn’t kill you makes you a shitload of money at the box offices!

-MANIACAL LAUGHTER.-

Nolan: …. I just kind of made you all my metaphorical bitches now didn’t I?

Audience: [BLOWN AWAY] YIS PLS.

-WRAPPING UP PREVIOUS STORYLINES. LET US SHOW YOU IT.-

Drug Dealer: I SELL DRUGS!

Scarecrow: I SELL DRUGS!

Drug Dealer: Your drugs give my customers nightmares! What kind of shit are you selling me?

Scarecrow: …I’m trying to figure out what makes the least sense. The fact that you seem upset about this, or the fact that you are ACTUALLY CONCERNED ABOUT THE PEOPLE WHO’S LIVES YOU ARE RAPING.

[SOMEHOW, THERE ARE DOGGIES.]

DRUG DEALER: My princes! Get the bastard!

-I AM SPARTACUS!-

[There are people being mauled by dogs with is somehow not as interesting as the fact that BATMAN has showed up! And has APPARENTLY REALLY LET HIMSELF GO.]

Batman One: I AM BATMAN!

Batman Two: NO I AM BATMAN! Annnd I’m being eaten by dogs!

-DOGGISH INTERLUDE:-

DOG ONE: …Batman: It’s what’s for dinner?

DOG TWO: I feel like Batman tonight?

DOG ONE: Batman: The other white-Okay, we need to stop.

DOG TWO: AGREED. This is way too easy. You’d think people would have more difficulty making fun of a badass ninja who leaps across rooftops wearing his underpants on the outside.

-AND BACK TO COMIC BOOK PEOPLE.-

Batman Three: I AM BATMAN!

Scarecrow: I am CONFUSED.

[THERE IS SMASHING OF CAR AS CAPED CRUSADER APPEARS ON SCREEN AND AUDIENCE SOILS UNDERWEAR AGAIN]
Batmans: WHO ARE YOU?!

The REAL batman: I’m Spartacus BITCHES.

[And thusly, three months of attempting to recruit dozens of people into Citizens for Batman and make them feel like they are a part of the movie going experience is WRAPPED UP AND NEVER MENTIONED AGAIN]

-SOME EMOTIONAL STUFF HAPPENS-

Nolan: …I mean after those shots I could cut this with scenes of people getting head or being blown up and you wouldn’t mind would you?

Audience: [Drooling] Guh? Bah Bah?

Nolan: I mean I could say anything right now, like you guys are complete tools who bought into a marketing campaign that lasted three months to get studio swag checking every single photo, making icons and blogging about every little thing?

Audience: [STILL STUNNED INTO THE STUPID] Da…da?

Nolan: THIS IS LIKE BEING GOD WITHOUT RULES.

-GOTHAM CITY COURTHOUSE: DOINK DOINK.-

SUBTITLE CARD: Trial of Boss Salvatore Maroni part 87.

RACHEL ‘I’M NO LONGER CRAZY KATIE HOLMES’ DAWES: Harvey is late aga-

[HARVEY DENT ARRIVES. WOMEN IN THE AUDIENCE SWOON AND SOMEWHERE EVERYONE FEELS MORE PATRIOTIC]

Harvey: I’m sorry I was late, I was off saving a busload of nuns from a flaming busload of schoolchildren after my early morning charity work reading to sick children and helping the homeless.

Judge: Two flaming busloads?

Harvey: Yes your honor.

Judge: Dent, you know I don’t except tardiness in my courtroom unless it’s four busloads or a giant monkey holding the city hostage!

Salvatore: [chuckles] And here I thought you were just another pretty face.

Harvey: Sally, your dialogue’s so bad that when you’re trying to be funny you ACTUALLY SOUND SERIOUS.

-GOTHAM CITY IS LIKE LIBERTY CITY:-

Harvey: now, BADGUY. After agreeing that I am TOTALLY AWESOME-can you point out the new head of the Falcone crime family?

Some Soprano Guy: Ayup. It’s me. [POINTS] plus, I was technical advisor on the SOPRANOS for the first four seasons before the show got preachy and strange!

Harvey: WHY MUST YOU TURN MY COURTROOM INTO A HOUSE OF LIES?

AUDIENCE: LOOK OUT HARVEY! HE’S GOT A GUN!

Nolan: My plan to turn this guy into a completely sympathetic character and then TAKE HIM OVER TO THE DARKSIDE WITH MORE ANGST THEN ANAKIN SKYWALKER IS WORKING PERFECTLY!

HARVEY: …MY PATRIOTISM! LET ME SHOW YOU IT!

PUNCH. SQUELTCH.

EMOTIONAL MOMENTS: WE HAVE TO HAS THEM.

[BRUCE WAYNE also known as BATMAN, ALSO KNOWN AS SPARTACUS is watching the latest in Internet PORN, stalking your girlfriend videos!]

Alfred: Master Bruce, I’m fully aware that you like being the envy of every fanboy on god’s green earth. I’m also fully aware that you enjoy fulfilling your promise to save Gotham City but doesn’t it bother you that you are missing out on things that are important in life?

Bruce: not at all. [CONTINUES TO WATCH VIDEOS OF STALKING RACHEL]

Alfred: …Okay. Let’s talk about your obsession with Rachel. Stalking people and making noises like a Death Cab for Cutie Song isn’t cool.

Bruce: But I love her Alfred! And I have to prove y’know that I’m not-not-not-

-A FLASHBACK, IN POOR TASTE.-

Batman: Well, taking on the penguin and the Riddler and cat woman has left me exhausted robin, I don’t know how I’m going to get rid of this tension!
Robin: Gee batman? Really?

Batman: [DRAMATIC POINTING] Quick Boy Wonder! TO THE BAT BEDROOM!

WE RETURN TO FRANK MILLERS BATMAN INSPIRED UNIVERSE.

Alfred: Having Rachel photographed privately and bugging her home ISN’T HELPING THIS IMAGE.

Bruce: I suppose you’re right. I shall have to get rid of this tension. HAND ME MY LATEX CODPIECE, I’M GOING TO GO FIGHT CRIME.

-IN THE END IT’S ALL A PISSING CONTEST.-

[RACHEL and HARVEY are sitting in a RESTAURANT. It is DEFINITELY NOT A COCOS OR A DENNY’S.]

Harvey: I can’t believe it took me three weeks to get a reservation here. You have to have at least three blockbusters under your belt in order to even be considered for a table!

Rachel: O rly?

Harvey: But in the end the city health inspector wasn’t afraid to pull strings.

Rachel: …This would be the time where I point out that abusing your power even for the least important things that your position offers is BAD and represents everything you’re taking a stand against right?

HARVEY:.. OH LOOK. IT’S YOUR OLD SCHOOLYARD CHUM BRUCE WAYNE.

[ENTER BRUCE WAYNE AND BALLERINA]

BRUCE: Rachel! Fancy that!

Rachel: Yeah Bruce. Fancy that. How’d you know we’d be here?

Bruce: I bugged your bedroom.

Rachel…whut?

Bruce: I said there’s plenty of room! Let’s put a couple of tables together!

-YOU EITHER DIE A HERO OR YOU LIVE LONG ENOUGH TO MAKE SOME REAL MONEY.-

Harvey: I genuinely think that we can beat Titanic as the best movie ever in the history of the universe. We’ve got two hundred million more to go and fans slathering out there to see the movie seven…eight times…

Bruce: [AWED] You’ve sold me, I’m for anything that will further my career. I’M GOING TO HOLD YOU A PARTY.

Rachel: Gee Bruce-I’m not particularly sure…I-mean I-

Harvey: WILL THERE BE BALLOONS?

Bruce: …Red White and blue Ones?

HARVEY: SOLD.

-WE REJOIN THE CRIMINAL FRATERNITY. OR WHY CHINA IS SOMETIMES THE ROOT OF ALL-EVIL.-

[THERE IS A BIG PARTY UNDERGROUND WITH LOTS OF SCARY BIG MOB TYPES]

NOLAN: I’ve already established that this is NOT A SUPERHERO MOVIE. Which means that we have to have REAL WORLD MOTIVES for GETTING THESE GUYS TOGETHER. There’s money involved. You saw that right? IT’S MAKING YOU THINK RIGHT? YOU ARE THINKING AND THIS IS NOT A SUPERHERO MOVIE.

SOME CHINESE GUY: HELLO…

Nolan: NOT A SUPERHERO MOVIE.

[The plan is outlined]

Some Chinese Guy: So anyway because after decades of luring you all into a false sense of security by thinking we Asian guys can be trusted to do all your math I have TAKEN all your money and put it in a secure location. I will be in Hong Kong so Batman and the rest of um’ can’t get you.

Some Mob guy: What makes you think they won’t go to the Feds?

Some Chinese guy: Despite the LACK OF FEDERAL PRESENCE IN GOTHAM CITY, no one in America would dare piss us off now. Not so close to the Olympic games with us holding the torch in the palm of our hands!

-THE JOKER ARRIVES.-

JOKER: Good afternoon folks, good afternoon. Guy named Nolan hired me to do the entertainment so I’ll start by making this pencil disappear-

BACK IN REALITY.

AUDIENCE: BEST. SCENE. EVER.

-BACK IN GOTHAM CITY.-

Joker: And now that’s over with I’ll explain. BATMAN IS LIKE ASLAN THE JESUS KITTY. YOU CAN’T STOP HIM EVEN IF YOU TRY.

Mob: What makes you so sure?

Joker: the fact that he’s the only franchise DC’s done that’s made any money? The fact that he’s almost got as many movies as JAMES FREAKIN’ BOND?

MOB BOSS: Let’s kill the clown!

Joker: Do you guys like the taste of failure?

MOB BOSS 2: IT TASTES LIKE CHOCOLATE.

-GETTING CHINESE TAKEOUT IS A BITCH.-

[THE ICON IMAGE OF THE BATSIGNAL is beamed out across the sky. When BATMAN, aka SPARTICUS, AKA BRUCE WAYNE arrives he realizes it’s NOT GORDON CALLING HIM]

Batman: YOU’RE NOT GORDON.

Harvey: …wow. You must be some kind of DETECTIVE OR SOMETHING.

GORDON: And with the end of the spot jokes…TOUCHING THE BATSIGNAL IS A FELONY. WE HAVE TO PAY ROYALTIES TO THE KANE ESTATE EVERY TIME WE USE IT!

Harvey: BITCH. I’M THE DISTRICT ATTORNEY. THERE IS NOTHING I CAN’T DO!

NOLAN: do you SEE MY BRILLIANT FORESHADOWING! IT’S LIKE TOTALLY NOT A SUPERHERO MOVIE!

Harvey: So anyway-

Nolan: NOT A SUPERHERO MOVIE! [RUNS LIKE HELL]

Harvey: [COUGHS] Our pivotal plot character has ESCAPED TO CHINA. He told THIS MORON [points at Gordon] that he wanted to go to the OLYMPIC GAMES, which aren’t for another month.

Gordon: WELL YOUR MOMMA’S…. shit I can’t do a momma joke here can I? Half of the city’s parents are dead.

Harvey: YEAH. WHY AREN’T YOU INVESTIGATING THAT EPIDEMIC INSTEAD OF BRINGING YOUR HATE TRIP DOWN ON THIS POW-WOW MAN?

BATMAN: you need him back?

GORDON AND HARVEY: [STILL ARGUING]

Batman: HELLO?

[THE ARGUMENT CONTINUES AS BATMAN SHRUGS, FLYING OFF.]

BRUCE WAYNE GOES TO CHINA. IT’S LIKE MR. SMITH GOES TO WASHINGTON WITH BLACK PEOPLE.

Fox: In Alfred’s Absence I feel like reminding you that you’re a psychopathic rich boy with mommy and daddy issues.

BATMAN: Duly noted.

Fox: Also uh-did you really need to bring all those ballerinas?

GOTHAM CITY BALLET.

Rachel: Closed? Aww…

Harvey: billionaire absconds with ballet? …. Twenty-Seven Women?

Rachel: DON’T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT.

BACK IN CHINA.

Batman: Now they won’t be cuddling at the ballet!

Fox: Whut.
Batman: THE PLANE! THE PLANE IS LATE!

INCREDIBLY POINTLESS IMAX SEQUENCE.

Nolan: …I can shoot in I-Max. I can shoot in I-Max-

WB: Show off.

Nolan: It’s not showing off if it produces results! [POINTS AT AUDIENCE] Lookit them!

AUDIENCE: It’s like BEING IN THE MATRIX WITHOUT THE MORALITY AND A MESSAGE THAT MAKES SENSE.

BACK IN GOTHAM CITY WITH THE JOKER.

Joker: For my next act, I’ll need a volunteer from the audience. How about YOU-Mr. Doubtful Mob guy?

MOB GUY: You are a SCARY SCARY CLOWN.

Joker: duly noted. Now, do you want to know how I got my scars?

MOB GUY: Not particularly…

JOKER: TOO DAMN BAD BITCH. IT’S MY GIMMICK!

AUDIENCE: BEST. GIMMICK. EVER.

JOKER: and now we build our criminal empire! We’ll start with a VIRAL MARKETING CAMPAIGN SO THE LOOSERS WITH DISPOSABLE INCOME WILL COME TO OUR AID. GOTHAM! IF YOU WANT STUDIO SWAG CALL IN NOW!

GOTHAMITES: [CHEER] YAY SWAG!

GOTHAM ORDERS CHINESE AND GETS IT DELIVERED.

Gordon: THERE IS A MAN ON THE STEPS OF THE PRECINCT.

Some Cop Woman: [READING] Dear Lt. Gordon. China was nice, picked you up some Egg Rolls and this guy here. Regards, Batman.

GORDON: that BASTARD!

Some Cop Woman: Why? Because he just violated a human being’s civil liberties and probably scarred this man for life?

GORDON: HE KNOWS I DON’T LIKE EGGROLLS!

HARVEY DOES SOMETHING PATRIOTIC, RACHEL DOES SOMETHING CUTE

RACHEL: I have a wonderfully wicked idea.

Harvey: Does it involve us trying all these mob guys as a criminal conspiracy thereby making them all one collective unit?

Rachel: …Actually it involved Me, Bruce, and You making a tuscadero sandwich, but THAT WORKS TOO.

[THERE IS A COURTROOM]

Judge: Not guilty, not guilty, not guilty by insanity, not guilty, playing card, death threat, naked picture of Harvey Dent, naked picture of Christian Bale to save for later- not guilty-how do all of you plead?

GIANT MOB THING: NOT GUILTY YOUR HONOR.

[THE MAYOR HAS A FEW THINGS TO SAY ABOUT THIS]

MAYOR: where’d you get the idea to do this?

Harvey: I used to be a prosecutor at Guantanamo Bay.

Mayor: You realize people will hate you just as much as they hate the guys who did that if this goes south right?

Harvey: MY PUBLIC’S LOVE. LET ME SHOW YOU IT.

I’M NOT BATMAN! I’M NOT BATMAN!

[WE INTERRUPT THIS SPOOF TO BRING YOU THE FOLLOWING VIDEOTAPE THAT HAS JUST BEEN DELIEVERED TO THIS JOURNAL.]

[THERE IS A FAT MAN IN A CHAIR]

Audience: OOooo. SAW reference?

JOKER: …[SHAKES HEAD] are you the real batman!

FAKE BATMAN: …no.

JOKER: good, cause damn. I was about to recommend you totally like join freakin’ weight watchers or something. I mean I know Ra’s Al ghul was like a father to you but Christ man. So you’re some guy in a suit?

FAKE BATMAN: …YES.

JOKER: see, WHEN YOU DRESS UP IN COSTUME you should choose a character that you totally LOOK LIKE. I can see PENGUIN with you. NOT BATMAN. Why’d you pick batman?

FAKE BATMAN: because he’s totally awesome?

JOKER: Okay see. This attitude has gotta stop. Batman is a SAD MAN WITH A LOT OF ISSUES WEARING WHAT AMOUNTS TO A DOMINATRIX OUTFIT ON THE ROOFTOPS OF GOTHAM CITY. He’s either a nut job or he’s as queer as a three-dollar bill-

AND NOW FOR A VIEWER REACTION-

BATMAN: …[OUTRAGED SCREAM]

AND BACK TO OUR REGULARLY SCHEDULED PROGRAM.

JOKER: So here’s the dish. Either Batman comes out and tells me because goddamn I’d like to see Superman or maybe Iron Man with more then one movie? Or I start killing people. I’m a man of my word.

GOTHAMITES: [CHEER] YAY! WORDS! … WAIT A MINUTE…

Gordon: [HEADDESK]

BECAUSE THE NUMBER TWO WILL BE DONE TO DEATH LATER IN THE MOVIE.

Some Judge: So you’re saying the Joker’s targeted me for death and that despite the t-shirts saying “I work for Maroni’s Death Squad” you guys are here to protect me?

SOME COPS: Yes. Absolutely.

Audience: oooo. Judge go Boom.

Gothammites: [CHEERING] YAY BOOM!

COMMISSIONER LEOB: … You knew there had to be two high profile deaths right? I mean, how the hell can’t I be one of them? I MIGHT AS WELL END IT NOW.

Gordon: NO SIR! -

Some Female cop: What did he drink? Drano? Turpentine? Arsenic?

GORDON: Worse. MIKE’S HARD LEMONADE.

GOTHAMITES: [CHEER] YAY LEMONADE!

HARVEY: You know, you’re hot.

Rachel: I am aware of this.

Harvey: We should do it and have INCREDIBLY attractive kids.

Rachel: [TORN]

BACK IN REALITY.

FEMALE AUDIENCE MEMBERS: SAY YES YOU FOOL! HE’S YOUR MR. BIG! HE’S YOUR MR. BIG!

BACK IN BRUCE’S SEXPAD.

Harvey: There’s someone else isn’t it? Fine. Fuck you. I have chemistry with EVERYBODY. I could go and have chemistry with that brick wall if I wanted, or with the hands that are wrapping around my throat squeezing the life out of-

THUD.

Rachel: I’m going to pretend you didn’t enjoy doing that.

Batman: DAMMIT. ENOUGH WITH THE GAY JOKES.

-PARDON ME MADAM, BUT DO YOU HAVE ANY GRAY PUPON OR DISTRICT ATTORNEY?-

JOKER: I…I’ve got nothing.

Rachel: The line is, “Do you wanna know how I got my scars?”

JOKER: …oh no wait! I’ve got one! What do you call a person whose career is dropping like a raindrop?

Rachel: …Katie Holmes?

Harvey: [FROM INSIDE BROOM CLOSET] The Wachowski Brothers?

Random Party Guest: Uh, the guys who were doing the Incredible Hulk?

JOKER: […CONTINUES TO ALWAYS SMILE] Close-

Rachel: OH-

BATMAN: SHIT!

-AFTER BATMAN TOTALLY SAVES THE HELL OUT OF HER.-

Batman: …you know, like the song-we should totally just-

Rachel: Movie’s PG-13 Bruce.

Batman: Yeah But. I just saved your life and-

Rachel: PG-13 Rating.

Batman: Are you sure we can’t just-

Rachel: PG-13.

Batman: BITCH.

-MORE PLOT DEVELOPMENT HAPPENS.-

Nolan: I mean I could tell you right now that aliens are landing outside and breaking into your freakin’ cars and you’d believe me wouldn’t you? I am literally god in your universe watching this film aren’t I? I mean I just-

Okay see? See? Watch. THE MAYOR’S GOING TO DIE. EVERYBODY PANIC.

GOTHAMITES: [CHEER] YAY DEATH!

AUDIENCE: …You could tell us the theater was on fire and we would leap up screaming.

-THERE IS A FUNERAL OF SORTS.-

Newscaster: And here we see the casket go by, and yes that’s the public servants of Gotham City walking in support. And there’s little John Kennedy Junior saluting it as it passes with his mother Jackie- (doesn’t she look gorgeous!) and here comes Bruce Wayne weaving through the crowd like he as someplace to be and OH! OH here’s the honor guard. The honor guard today was selected especially for their ability to make extremely difficult shots with extremely long rifles at extremely close range! And there’s the gun salute and THERE’S the mayor falling! He’s so good at it and oh-Oh there’s Jim Gordon! It looks like he just took the bullet for the Mayor-

-BACK IN THEATER-

Audience: [PUNCHED IN THE GUT]

Nolan: [BECOMING DRUNK WITH POWER] MUAHAH-AHAHAHAAH-

-BACK TO GOTHAM.-

BATMAN: [FAILS AT SAVING THE DAY!]

Nolan: [Still laughing] TOTALLY NOT A SUPER HERO MOVIE.

-MY FORESHADOWING. LET ME SHOW YOU IT.-

[THERE IS AN ALLEYWAY AND HARVEY DENT WITH SOME RANDOM GUY]

Harvey: TELL ME ABOUT THE JOKER!

RANDOMGUY: [raspberry]

Harvey: So you wanna play games huh? Okay. Okay, we’ll play games.

RANDOMGUY: What are you going to do with that?

Harvey: FORESHADOWING BITCH. LET ME SHOW YOU IT. HEADS I BLOW YOUR BRAINS OUT. HEADS I…BLOW YOUR BRAINS OUT!

Batman: Methinks you’re not supposed to enjoy it that much.

Harvey: DAMMIT. That’s what BEING PATRIOTIC IS. It’s not all saving flaming buses of nuns! You have to BEAT THE HORSE OF TERRORISM UNTIL IT IS DEAD AND BLOATED AND BLUE.

Batman: …Gotham can’t survive another George Bush. I am turning myself in tomorrow.

Harvey: WHAT?! NO! NO YOU CAN’T! YOU CANNOT GIVE IN! WE HAVE TO STAY THE COURSE! WE HAVE TO-my god I really do sound like that guy don’t I?

Batman: all the more reason to end this madness. NOW.

-I AM THE BATMAN FO REAL YO.-

Harvey Dent: My fellow Americans. You have stayed the course against terrorism, you have never flagged or failed, you have defended our isle whatever the cost has been and now it’s time to address the fact that we-seemingly-have really SUCKED at protecting you. Well NO MORE. I ADMIT IT. I’M THE BATMAN.

GOTHAMITES” [CONFUSED] …we can has batman?

Harvey: Yes. Yes you cans. You can has a batman. Take the batman into custody.

-A CHASE SCENE IN TEN SECONDS.-

HARVEY: …Here’s hoping Batman saves my ass.

Rachel: BRUCE. YOU’RE THE BIGGEST DICK TO EVER…HAVE A DICK!

JOKER: …It’s all, part of the plan.

SOME COPS: Being a cop in Basin City is safer then this-PLUS you get nice fat bribes to live off of.

-JIM GORDON IS ALIVE!-

GORDON: [WAVES TO ALL]

Harvey: [KNEW]

Batman: [KNEW]

Rachel: [DIDN’T KNOW AND REMAINS PISSED ABOUT IT]

AUDIENCE: …HOLY- [expletives deleted]

Nolan: …I. Am. GOD.

-THERE IS SOME KIDNAPPING TAKING PLACE! LET’S CALL THE FBI! OH WAIT- THEY AREN’T IN GOTHAM CITY ARE THEY? I MEAN, AT LEAST MULDER AND SCULLY COULD SHOW UP? -SAY, LET’S HAVE THEM DO THAT.-

Mulder: Harvey Dent and his girlfriend/love interest have been kidnapped.

Scully: I think we should start by interrogating the Joker’s goons-

Mulder: …It can only be the work of ALIENS.

Scully: [SRS BSNS FACE] Aliens in Gotham City.

Mulder: …IT’S NOT AS FAR FETCHED AS YOU MIGHT THINK. MARTIAN MANHUNTER? SCULLY?

-AND WE JUST REMEMBERED WHY X-FILES IS DEAD AND GONE TO MOVIE AND TV-SHOW HEAVEN.-

GORDON: The Feds are out and the Joker’s in custody. We have three options. Option A is we go Rodney King on his ass, Option B is we let Batman go Rodney King on his ass, or Option C is we call New York, get some Feds down here and make a Federal Case of this like SANE POLICE OFFICERS DO. Now. What do you all think?

RAMIREZ: Option B.

WEURTZ: Option B.

STEPHENS: OPTION B.

MURPHY: …B.

GORDON: Wow, shit I was going to suggest option A because it seems like letting Batman beat the crap out of criminals is getting kind of old hat and we should maybe take responsibility for our actions but damn, now that I know I’m the minority here…

RAMIREZ: You are the sanest link. Goodbye.

GORDON: Why do I have the feeling that was some sort of horrible foreshadowing?

-THE WAREHOUSE OF LOVE AND EXPLOSIONS.-

[THERE ARE TWO PEOPLE IN TWO DIFFERENT ROOMS IN TWO DIFFERENT PARTS OF TOWN TALKING TO EACH OTHER VIA TELEPHONE. IT’S LIKE A MATCH.COM SPECIAL DATE.]

AUDIENCE: our FAITH HAS BEEN REWARDED. God-Nolan has blessed us with SAW-STYLE TORTURE PRON.

Rachel: Can anyone hear me? Hello! Hello!

Harvey: …Rachel?

Rachel: OMG. JIGSAW?

Harvey: …No. Rachel.

Rachel: …Oh shit. That’s a bad thing. I mean with Jigsaw there might be needles or goo or poison darts or something but there’s always a way out.

Harvey: Relax. We can’t die. IT’S A SUPERHERO MOVIE.

YET ANOTHER JUMPCUT TO THE REAL WORLD.

-AUDIENCE: …OHHHHHH-HARVEEEE-OOOOOOH.-

NOLAN: I am the BEST THING SINCE GEORGE LUCAS.

-AND BACK IN GOTHAM CITY…-

Rachel: Harvey, I just felt a strange disturbance in the force…As if millions of voices made quiet whimpering noises and were suddenly silenced.

Harvey: …[SLIGHTLY NERVOUS NAO] we’ll be okay Rachel! DON’T GO CRAZY. THAT’S GOING TO BE MY JOB.

Rachel: doing a hell of a job so far.

Harvey: OKAY. FINE.

-LETTING BATMAN GO RODNEY KING: WHAT ALL COPS SHOULD DO.-

[THE JOKER IS SITTING IN AN INTERROGATION ROOM JOINED BY GORDO WHO SHOULD REALLY BE CALLED ZOMBIE-GORDO SINCE HE CAME BACK FROM THE DEAD BUT ZOMBIES ARE THE last THING THAT GOTHAM NEEDS]

Joker: Evening Commissioner.

Audience: [PEES SELF FOR THE THIRD TIME] BEST. LINE. EVER.

Gordon: …CUT THE CRAP. WHERE’S HARVEY DENT?

Joker: have you asked Mulder and Scully?

GORDON: shut up!

Joker: Dude, any particular reason you’re channeling all this hatred? I mean, let’s pass the doobie on the left hand side y’know? C’mon people now, smile on your brother…

Gordon: [RELAXES] Gee. Let’s do that? I’ll go get some pot from the evidence room we’ll chat-totally put on Alice in Wonderland and be like-trippin’ yo.

Joker: …Srsly?

GORDON: …NO.

-BATMAN VS. THE JOKER. THE FIGHT WE HAVE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR.-

Audience: OUR PURPOSE IN LIFE IS TO WITNESS THIS MOMENT.

Nolan: Now THAT is what I’m talking about.

-NO SRSLY. LET’S LIKE, THUNDERDOME THIS BITCH.-

Joker: Dude! It’s Batman!

BATMAN: [PICKS HIM UP AND SLAMS HIM INTO THE WALL]

Joker: AND HE’S PISSED! So what, you’re the bad cop?

BATMAN: I’M FUCKING SPARTACUS BITCH.

JOKER: OK. See uh, this running gag you have, looking for me, the gay innuendo-the subtle political humor…

BATMAN: [PICKS HIM UP AND FLINGS HIM INTO THE PLATE GLASS]

Joker: WHY IN GOD’S NAME ARE THE POLICE DOING NOTHING?

THE PO-PO.

Gordon: Some instinct is compelling me to do something. Something vital, important-something we should have done ages ago.

Ramirez: …going in and pulling Batman off of him?

Gordon: No…

Weurtz: calling the feds?

Gordon: …No…

SomeRandomCOP: Starting a betting pool?

Gordon: YES! FIVE TO ONE ON BATMAN, c’mon people let’s lay the MONEY DOWN.

-WWE GOTHAM CITY.-

Joker: so you can totally be honest with me. Is this turning you on because I’m right there with ya. This is fucking KINKY.

BATMAN: [ENRAGED] SHUT. UP.

-BACK TO THE WAREHOUSE OF LOVE AND EXPLOSIONS-

[BACK TO THE HORRIBLE TORTUROUS MATCH.COM MEETING STRATEGY INVOLVING BOMBS AND SPLOSIONS]

RACHEL: Harvey, I have this feeling we’re about to die.

Harvey: I’m thinking possibly you’re right.

RACHEL: I have something to confess to you Harvey. I-I-

Harvey: You love me?

RACHEL: I-I used your best court shirt to wax my car.

Harvey: Am going to pretend that you didn’t say that because you love me!

Rachel: …I slept with Bruce Wayne and I liked it.

Harvey: NOT LISTENING because you LOVE ME

RACHEL: I slept with Jim Gordon and fucking loved it…

Harvey: …you LOVE ME…

RACHEL: I mean, my god the things that he could do with his-

Harvey: LOVE. ME TRUE LOVE. LOVE.

Rachel: OH YEAH AND I UH-

-ENTER THE BATMAN BITCHES.-

Batman: RACHEL! I AM HERE TO SAVE YOU AND PROVE MY MANHOOD BECAUSE-OH FUCK.

[HARVEY IS TIED TO A CHAIR]

Batman: FUCK ME.

HARVEY: GODDAMNIT, MY GIRLFRIEND IS ON THE PHONE, WOULD YOU EXCUSE US? I AM NOT INTERESTED!

RACHEL’S DEATH SCENE.

Rachel: I’m totally screwed aren’t I?

GOTHAMITES: [CHEERING] YAY DEATH!

KABOOM.

AUDIENCE: WOW, that totally set it up for a sequel. Oh man, poor Harvey, Poor Rachel, poor-

-YOU THINK THIS IS THE END? YOU PATHETIC FOOL!-

Gordon: Okay people, This is what we’ve got. We’ve got a HORRIBLY MUTILATED DISTRICT ATTORNEY, A dead love interest, a VIGILANTE OUT FOR REVENGE, and a CRAZY PSYCHOPATHIC CLOWN.

Ramirez: we should call in reinforcements from y’know, bludhaven or Metropolis or New-Freakin- York or something…
Gordon: Fuck that shit, we’ve got to get out and market this! RAMIREZ. GET HOLLYWOOD ON THE PHONE, WEURTZ, get me Travel!

Weurtz: Travel?

Gordon: WE’RE GOING TO HOLLYWOOD! After we wrap this up with a Hollywood Ending. Because this is a SUPER HERO MOVIE.

-HOLEE SHIT.-

AUDIENCE: That’s right, happy things are going to happen. Like in Iron Man. Like in Spiderman, People are GOING TO GET OUT OF THIS OKAY. Rachel (even though she was lame) will be alive, Harvey will be alive and healed and BATMAN WILL SOMEHOW SNOG CATWOMAN.

NOLAN: you just keep thinking that.

Audience: [WHIMPERS]

-THE HOSPITAL OF PAIN AND EXPLOSIONS-

[HARVEY DENT is in the hospital slowly going crazy. Which is understandable, it’s a HOSPITAL after all]

GORDO: [ARRIVES] Heeeyyy…Harvey…how ya feelin…

Harvey: Do you all remember what that name was that you had for me at internal affairs?

Gordo: …Mr. Sell your own mother to get ahead?

Harvey: No, that wasn’t it…

Gordo: Mr. takes it up the ass?

Harvey: …No…

Gordo: Two-Face?

Harvey: …Remember my foreshadowing? [TURNS TO REVEAL HIS FACE]

Gordo: HOLY CRAP ON A CRUTCH-I mean, it’s hardly noticeable.

GOTHAM IS IN DANGER ONCE AGAIN.

Mayor: Gotham is in Danger once again. I’d really like to put y’know, a ballot measure down that’d allow us to BAN PEOPLE IN PSYCHOTIC COSTUMES. It worked for Watchmen.

Deputy Mayor: True Dat.

Gordon: GOTHAM STILL HAS BATMAN, AND BATMAN IS TOTALLY GOING TO FIND THE JOKER AND PWN HIM.

Mayor: Just like he did in the LAST FIVE MOVIES? ARE YOU SENSING A TREND MEBBE?

-THIS IS DEFINITELY NOT CNN-

[WE INTERRUPT THIS SPOOF FOR A NEWS BULLETIN]

SOME ANCORMAN: Hi, I’m Mike Engel here for FOX NEWS with this weenie subplot. Somebody has ACTUALLY FIGURED OUT WHO BATMAN IS. Which is, to say the least a FEAT given that he’s been around since the FREAKIN THIRTIES and nobody has been able to put this together.

WEENIE: That’s right.

SOME ANCORMAN: okay, let’s take a caller! Hello Caller, you’re on Fox News…

CALLER: yes, Weenie. How’d you figure that out? Are you truly the biggest geek on the face of the fucking planet?

WEENIE: I blog pretty damn regularly but that’s beside the point.

SOME ANCORMAN: okay, let’s go to another caller, hello you’re on FOX NEWS.

Joker: yeah, I DON’T LIKE PEOPLE SPOILING THINGS LIKE THIS FOR ME.

SOME ANCORMAN: Don’t you think that people have a right to know?

JOKER: NOT WHEN THERE’S STILL PROFIT TO BE HAD. SPOILERWHOR HERE IS RUINING THIS FOR EVERYONE. IF HE ISN’T DEAD IN THE NEXT HOUR? I’M GOING TO BLOW UP A HOSPITAL.

SOME ANCORMAN: …That’s a little harsh don’t you think?

JOKER: someone spoiled the end of THE SIXTH SENSE FOR ME AND I HAVE NEVER EVER FORGIVEN THEM FOR IT.

-WE ARE THE DRAMATIC METAPHORS.-

Gordon: I’ve got a joke for you, what’s in terrible danger and has NO VIABLE PLAN FOR A LARGE SCALE DISASTER?

Ramirez: Uh…New Orleans?

Gordon: close…

Weurtz: The United States?

Gordon: …Bad political humor right there.

THE JOKER: Gotham City?

Gordon: …dude, you must have heard this one!

-A BRIEF POLITICAL AD FOR THE REAL WORLD.-

[IN A FIT OF POSSIBLE INSANITY Gordon is EVACUATING every SINGLE HOSPITAL.]

Some Nurse: Why are we dragging all these sick people from their beds?

Some Doctor: Dramatic visuals. People have nightmares about having to flee from hospitals.

Some Nurse: But with the rising cost of healthcare isn’t that what we’ll all be doing?

Some Doctor: NOT IF WE GET SMART AND VOTE OBAMA FOR HEALTHCARE REFORM IN 08!

[VOTE OBAMA 08 TODAY]

-BACK TO REALITY (OOP THERE GOES GRAVITY]-

AUDIENCE: [ZOMBIE VOICE] …Vote OBAMA 08 TODAY.

[NOLAN BY THIS TIME HAS GONE ON TO PROVE THAT BLACK IS WHITE AND UP IS DOWN]

-THE ANGST ROOM.-

[HARVEY DENT is in a ROOM looking FUGLY [WEEP] and generally TRYING NOT TO EXIST]

Some Nurse: It could be worse. You could’ve gotten your whole body toasted like Anakin Skywalk-

Harvey: SHUT. UP.

[ENTER THE JOKER]

Joker: HOWDY THAR.

Harvey: [CHOKES] RAGE! MAIM! KILL! DESTROY!

JOKER: Just goes to show you that in the end politicians are just people motivated by their BASE IMPULSES.

HARVEY: [MAKES STRANGLEY NOISES] RAGE! MAIM! KILL! DESTROY.

Joker: TAKE IT EASY SONNY! Let’s turn those feelings into more visually appealing ones! We’ve got an AUDIENCE TO PLACATE. SEE. Here’s the thing. Killing Rachel was a fucking public service.

-THE WORLD WITH RULES (AKA THE REAL WORLD-

Comic Fans: A-FREAKIN-MEN.

-AND BACK IN RACHEL-LESS GOTHAM CITY.-

Joker: But see, You-YOU’RE COOL. You’ve got potential! You’ve got a FREAKIN’ UGLY FACE! Plus, y’know, you’re TRAGIC!

HARVEY: …[SEETHES]

Joker: THIS IS WHAT I PROPOSE. Join me, and together we will RULE GOTHAM CITY AS ANARCHIST AND…. GUY WHO WANTS VENGEANCE!

HARVEY: or I could just kill you.

Joker: Don’t think so. I’M MARKETABLE. EVERYONE LOVES A PSYCHOPATH.

-REALITY ONCE AGAIN.-

Audience: OOooo Joker you’re so hot I wish you’d tie me up like SAW STYLE TORTURE PORN and cut my face and make me do horrible thiiiiinnnngs…

SANE AUDIENCE MEMBER: Apparently Christopher Nolan has managed to tap into some sort of internal need to be punished psyche thing.

SANE AUDIENCE MEMBER 2: I think it’s what critics call “The Dead Guy Factor” With the tragic passing of Heath Ledger Audiences are truly stunned by performances and of course, stellar performances are going to inspire people to be interested. It will ultimately inspire people to be intrigued simply because it’s so different. It’s a sociological bellwether if you will…

SANE AUDIENCE MEMBER: …Let’s go to the source!

NOLAN WHO IS A GOD: EVERYBODY LOVES A CLOWN, SO WHY DON’T YOU?

-HEADS YOU LIVE. TAILS YOU GET TO SEQUEL.-

GORDON: TO RECAP since this is apparently the LONGEST SUPERHERO MOVIE IN THE HISTORY OF THE GENRE SO FAR, District Attorney disfigured, girl dead, batman gone loco, cops freaking out, city in danger.

SOME COP: In essence, we are no different from any other batman movie.

GORDON: that’s a GOOD THING. That means everything is going to turn out OKAY IN THE END.

SOME COP: you just keep being naïve like that.

-DAS BOAT! NO WAIT, DAS BOATS! CUZ THERE’S TWO!-

[SUFFICE IT TO SAY THAT A MAJOR METROPOLITIAN CITY HAS BEEN BROUGHT TO IT’S KNEES BY A MAN WHO LOOKS LIKE THE LOVE CHILD OF ALEX FROM A CLOCKWORK ORANGE AND IGGY POP. THIS IS THE AMERICA WE LIVE IN LADIES AND GENTLEMEN.]

Joker: It’s a sign of the times. [BOWS]

[THERE ARE LOTS OF METAPHORS ABOUT THIS FACT]

Joker: I’M AN ANARCHIST BECAUSE ALL THE COOL KIDS ARE DOING IT. And now I’ll take my Hot Topic! Brand Make up with my Weezer CD and go smoke while DESTROYING PEOPLE.

-OUR GULLIBILITY LET US SHOW YOU IT.-

Audience: …SRSLY! [ALL INSPIRED NOW]

-IN A WORLD WITHOUT RULES…-

Joker: NO YOU MORONS?! Oh my god hasn’t it sunk in yet that I’m COMPLETELY AND UTTERLY DERANGED? And ONLY GEEKS BUY THEIR ANARCHY GEAR FROM FUCKING HOT TOPIC!

…. And no, your MOM DOES NOT THINK YOU’RE COOL. SHE JUST PITIES YOU.

-RE-ENTER THE BATMAN-

Batman/Spartacus/Wayne: Now it’s personal.

Alfred: What? For making the audience cry emo tears before running off to buy Joker Bobble heads?

Batman/Spartacus/Wayne: No. I’m going to give him a medal for that. This is about Rachel.

Alfred: Has it ever occurred to you that there might be other opportunities to prove your manhood?

Batman/SPARTACUS/WAYNE: not NOW.I’M BEING DRAMATIC.

WE RETURN TO THE BOATS I MENTIONED PREVIOUSLY.

[THERE ARE BOATS. Because ALL THE OTHER BOATS ARE BROKEN THERE ARE ONLY TWO TO EVACUATE A CITY OF THREE MILLION PEOPLE. TALK ABOUT COINCIDENCE]

BOAT A: Hi, I’m Boat A. I house all the convicts, murderers, thieves, Rapists, and general not-nice people who cheat on their income taxes-and that’s just the PRISON GUARDS.

BOAT B: Hi. I’m Boat B; I house all the convicts, murderers, thieves, rapists, and general not nice people who cheat on their income taxes. The only difference between me and boat A is that NONE OF MY CIVILIANS HAVE GOTTEN CAUGHT YET.

BOAT A: seriously?

BOAT B: Dude, this is GOTHAM CITY. If you’re born here you’re automatically committing a crime. Babies like, steal from other babies in the hospital.

-A SOCIAL EXPERIMENT-

JOKER: ELLO THAR BOAT PEOPLE! [WAVES] Tonight you’re all going to be part of an EPIC SONG WORTHY OF THE SEX PISTOLS. We’re going to illustrate the depravity of the human condition and the horrible lives we all apparently lead. In your hands you hold detonators that are linked to the latest high-school musical albums…

BOAT A: OH DEAR GOD NO!

JOKER: that’s right! Now, Either Boat A blows up Boat B or Boat B blows up Boat A or I blow up BOTH OF Y’ALL and you die in a FIREY HAIL OF ZAC EFRON AND BOUNCY ASHLEY TISDALE SINGING.

BOAT B: Why are you DOING THIS? HAVE YOU NO DECENCY! HAVE YOU NO HUMAN COMPASSION OR HUMAN FEELING?

JOKER: not if I want to reach my target audience.

OUR LAST CUT TO THE REAL WORLD. I SWEAR.

Audience: oh my god he is SO TOTALLY RIGHT. Now I’m going to go darken my eyeliner and write HORRIBLE POETRY ABOUT HOW THE JOKER KEEPS ME UP AT NIGHT.

SANE AUDIENCE MEMBER SILENCED BY CHRISTOPHER NOLAN: Is there no hope of getting any of you to remember this is simply an actor doing a performance.

AUDIENCE: SHUT UP. I AM THINKING UP WAYS TO BE AN ANARCHIST WHILE I LISTEN TO RADIOHEAD.

-WE DO NOT WANT HIGH SCHOOL MUSICAL! WE DO NOT WANT HIGH SCHOOL MUSICAL!-

BOAT A: dude. We should just do this.

BOAT B: THEY HAD THEIR CHANCE. IF THIS WERE TEXAS THOSE PEOPLE WOULD ALREADY BE DEAD!

Captain of boat B: Holy shit are you freakin’ serious? These are human lives. They deserve compassion, they deserve understanding. Yeah I mean, they’re bad but dying in fiery boom isn’t compassionate-putting a needle in the arm and prolonging the experience-

BOAT B: what do you think we are FREAKS? BLOWING PEOPLE UP IS QUICKER!

Captain of Boat B: Yeah, BUT YOU DON’T GET TO WATCH THEN!

[THERE IS PHILOSOPHICAL DEBATE]

-THE SPOOF AUTHOR’S FAVORITE SCENE EVER.-

Big Badass motherfucker: Give me the detonator. I’m a badass motherfucker. You can say I took it from you. You want to take their life but you’re mired in morality. I’m a minority, a STATISTIC. You’ve already given up on me, why shouldn’t I just embrace it? Give it to me cause you’re a fucking pussy. I’ve killed before.

WARDEN: hokies. That was easy.

Big Badass Motherfucker: [THROWS IT OUT THE WINDOW]

WRITER: STRIKE A BLOW FOR STEREOTYPES PROVING TO BE COMPLETELY INNACURATE! [SQUEES.] BEST THING EVER.

-SWEET ANGRY JESUS WE’RE ALMOST THREE HOURS LONG HERE!-

[BATMAN AND THE COPS FIGHT!]

BATMAN: bitch, I’M DOING THE RIGHT THING HERE!

Cops: BUT THIS IS A SUPER HERO MOVIE. That means that the HOSTAGES ARE THE ONES WE NEED TO SAVE.

BATMAN: So the fact that they are kicking your ass means what?

Cops: THEY’RE SO GRATEFUL THAT THEY’RE HUGGING US SO HARD IT’S BREAKING OUR NECKS!

[BATMAN AND THE JOKER FIGHT!]

Joker: YOU GOT MY LOVE LETTER.

Batman: [THROWN INTO AN ANGRY RAGE] RAAAAAAAA!

-A DOGGISH INTERLUDE-

Dog One: holy crap! THIS BATMAN TASTES DIFFERENT!

Dog Two: Free range?

Dog One: FROM NOW ON I’M GOING ORGANIC!

-AND BACK TO THE FIGHT FOR THE WIN!-

ANNOUNCER: Oooo, and the Joker’s got Batman in a headlock-and Batman just threw a punch to the left! A punch to the right! Is that-YES! YES HE’S GOING FOR THE CHAIR! And the Ref’s calling a time out-AND HOLY CRAP BATMAN IS GRABBING HIS GROIN. IS THIS THE PROOF WE’VE BEEN LOOKING FOR? IS BATMAN REALLY-

Batman: RAAAAAA! [THROWS THE JOKER OUT A WINDOW]

-EVERYWHERE AND ANYWHERE-

GORDON: [GASPS]

HARVEY: [GASPS]

COPS: [GASPS]

CITY: [GASPS]

CRANE”: [GASPS]

GOTHAMITES: [GASPS]

RACHEL: [WOULD GASP EXCEPT SHE’S DEAD]

AUDIENCE: [LONG WAIL] NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO-

-WARNER BROTHERS: NO ONE WILL DIE AS LONG AS THERE IS PROFIT TO BE HAD.-

Joker: You could have ended my miserable existence and spared this city decades of grief if you’d let me fall to my death. Why?

Batman: …you make money.

Joker: That doesn’t excuse the fact that I basically violated Harvey Dent, killed your loved one, destroyed whatever hope you had of a normal life and whatever hope this city had of redeeming itself. Why save me?

Batman: …You make a SHITLOAD of money.

-WRAPPING UP PLOT THREADS.-

[Remember all of our foreshadowing?]

WEURTZ WHO IS A BAD BAD BAD MONKEY: Fuckin’ City. If it’s not a guy blowing shit up it’s a penguin stealing babies or a cat stealing diamonds. We’re like a zoo but without peanuts.

Harvey: HERE’S SOME NUTS.

WEURTZ: …HOLY CRAP. I mean HI. Uh…wow, you’re looking…positively stomach churning. How are things?

Harvey: VENGEFUL.

WEURTZ: I had no idea.

HARVEY: why must you turn this bar INTO A HOUSE OF LIES?

Weurtz: Look man, if that defense worked for the Nazis…

Harvey: YOU KNOW WHAT ELSE WORKED FOR THE NAZIS? CAPITOL PUNISHMENT.

Weurtz: Oh HELL NO-

BLAM BLAM!

RAMIREZ: Harvey, listen, I really didn’t know what they were going to do to you but is it really so important that you need to take it out on Gordon’s family?

Harvey: I lost the only person I loved. Let me think about that. YES?

RAMIREZ: So what happens now? Are you going to kill me?

Harvey: UNFORTUNATELY NO. See, you’re “based” on a character that has further stuff to do in COMIC CANON and since this thing’s made SO MUCH MONEY we could totally explore that.

RAMIREZ: uhh-

Harvey: PLUS YOU AND I COULD HAVE A RELATIONSHIP.

Ramirez: Isn’t my comic book character a Lesbian?

Harvey: I didn’t say it had to be consensual.

-OKAY, SO ONE MORE FANFIC CUT TO REALITY.-

ASPIRING AUTHORS AND NOT JOKER OBSESSED FANFIC-WRITERS IN THE AUDIENCE: …THERE’S AN IDEA.

-ANNND BACK-

RAMIREZ: EEP!

Harvey: See ya soon [PUNCH]

-WE CONCLUDE IN THE WAREHOUSE OF LOVE AND EXPLOSIONS.-

GORDON: okay so Harvey, maybe I messed up.

Harvey: …really.

Gordon: maybe I shoulda listened and been tougher on my cops. Cut down on extra donut Thursdays, y’know, stopped letting them borrow the cars for “Moonlighting” in bad parts of town…

Harvey: YOU THINK SO MAYBE?

GORDON: …But please. Don’t do what you’re thinking of doing. Don’t hurt my family.

Harvey: How’d you figure that out?

GORDON: I’m A DETECTIVE.

BATMAN: NO. I’M A DETECTIVE.

-THE BEST SHOWDOWN SINCE THE OK-FUCKING-CORRAL.-

Batman: we all screwed up.

Harvey: O RLY? NO SHIT SHERLOCK. THAT MUST BE WHY THEY CALL YOU THE GREAT DETECTIVE.

Batman: Annnd unfortunately you got the worst of it.

Harvey: …That’s putting it mildly.

Gordon: Seriously Man. Damn.

Batman: Well, BATMAN NEEDS A STRAIGHT FOIL AND I’M STILL MARKETABLE.

Harvey: WHAT MAKES YOU SO SPECIAL?

Batman: Because unlike other superheroes, I can actually be RELATED TO.

Harvey: so what am I? Chopped liver?

Batman: No, you appeal to a special group of people who treat you as part puppy dog part wolverine and y’know, find you an enjoyable and tragic villain since the tragic ones are always complex.

HARVEY: [CONFUSED] …I can have vengeance?

Batman: …No Harvey. YOU CANNOT HAS VENGEANCE.

-HARVEY DENT DIES.-

Audience: WTF!

COMIC AUDIENCE: Woah. Woah. Wait a minute. WAIT A MINUTE. This is a MAJOR MOTION PICTURE. IT’S A SUPER HERO MOVIE. AND THE VILLAIN DIED. THE HERO TECHNICALLY KILLED THE VILLAIN. HEROES DON’T KILL PEOPLE.

Tony Stark: …Uh….

[THE SMOLDERING WRECKAGE OF THE IRON MONGER IS POINTED AT BY ALL THE CAST MEMBERS]

Audience: ….WTF!

Comic Audience: PEOPLE WHO AREN’T TONY STARK DON’T KILL PEOPLE!

Audience: W. T. F.

-BEFORE THE CREDITS GRACIE.-

GORDON: WELL, we’re fucked. We had a shot at cleaning up this shithole and this guy went bananas just like the LAST Harvey dent, Mayor, Etc. Etc.

BATMAN: are you sensing a trend as well?

Gordon: [EYES NARROW] really. WHAT DO YOU THINK BATMAN?

BATMAN: I think I killed those people.

Gordon: THAT MUST BE BECAUSE YOU’RE A DETEC-wait what?

BATMAN: I’m a murderer. I killed those people.

-INTERJECTION. LET US SHOW YOU IT-

NOLAN: that’s right bitches. That’s right. All part of the plan- IT’S NOT A SUPER HERO MOVIE.

-FINALLY, THE END.-

GORDON: [BLINKING RAPIDLY AND STUIPDLY] and apparently FREAKED OUT THE AUDIENCE. WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO WITHOUT YOU BATMAN?

Batman: MAKE A SEQUEL SO I CAN REDEEM MYSELF.

[END CREDITS]

-LET’S GO TO THE REACTION.-

AUDIENCE: [STARES WITH THEIR MOUTHS OPEN]

COMIC AUDIENCE: …BEST. ADAPTATION. UNTIL. WATCHMEN. COMES. OUT!

REGULAR AUDIENCE: AAARGGGH! AHHH! NO SOLID ENDING! NO HAPPINESS! WHAT KIND OF MOVIE IS THIS?

NOLAN: not a super hero movie, certainly. [SMUG]

SANE AUDIENCE MEMBER: Think anybody will get an Oscar?

SANE AUDIENCE MEMBER 2: I think if nobody does then the line between Art and Entertainment will forever remain in the fucking sand.

THEATER EMPLOYEE: please deposit all trash in the receptacles provided and make sure to collect anyone who has melted into a puddle and adhered to the floor-thank you and come again!

[FADE TO BLACK]

Harvey/Two-Face-Batman: TDK-That Bar PlaceThing.

Mon, 11 Aug 2008 22:39:29 GMT

This is the last place he expected to be.

The last thing he remembered was falling (Was it so quick or was it a gradual process, let down slowly, sinking always sinking...) and then that painful snap! and then darkness.

Going from Darkness to grass isn't a good thing, staggering up to the entrance of a bar and throwing the door open and realizing that he's been here before.

Half-blind, stumbling and broken and he's been here before.

It's that instinct that drives him to move toward the shadows, positively terrified that someone will see him. His foot hits a table, the noise echoing across the bar as he puts his hands on the wall to help him see before collapsing into a chair and putting his face in his hands-

Only to draw his hand back away from the left side of his cheek.

HE would like to cry now. If crying didn't hurt. Instead he sits until the bravest of the waitrats approaches.

"...Whiskey."

He gets Whiskey and a straw and cries-gentle noises from someone who's saved, someone who's damned and drinks, trying to hide.

Gotham's Dark Materials

Fri, 01 Aug 2008 18:20:58 GMT

Ever have an idea that just won't go away?

And you try and try and it keeps coming back and demanding attention?

And then you scream "LEAVE ME ALONE!" and start running in the opposite direction only to have said idea pull a batman/fightclub move and insert itselef directly in your path?

That's what this is.

Like "Plot with Rocks in it" But far more...ah...bizzare. In any case, how many of you have heard of the His Dark Materials Series by Phillip Pullman?

Okay, for those of you who haven't. There's a girl named Lyra and a guy named William Perry who live in two different worlds that end up getting smushed together when Lyra's...well, when people close to Lyra decide to mess with the natural order.

One of the coolest things about the His Dark Materials series is that everybody gets crazy little animals that follow them around. For more information on daemons and what they are Let's go to Wikipedia.

What does this have to do with Batman?

Batman TDK with Daemons in it. Ever wondered how Bruce can keep people from knowing his secret identity? Ever wonder what Batman's daemon would be? How villians like two-face work with daemons? That is what I aim to explore.

In essence, it will be identical to TDK, with daemons. Canon quotes, experiences, etc. etc. I have the novelization, followed the ARG, and have seen the movie three times. I knows what I knows. ;)

...Okay so....

I took the daemon test for Harvey at www.thegoldencompass.org-official movie site. His daemon is a snow leopard (which fits, independant thinker, refuses to give up, powerful, somewhat unique.) who's name happens to be Justica after the Roman Goddess of Justice.

What about the other characters?

I hope against hope and wish against wishing that other people might be as obessive about daemons as I am but I'm going by basic stereotypes as listed in Wikipedia. Gordon's is some kind of dog, animal shapes, etc. etc. I sincerely hope other people might be interested as I'd love to get other people's prespectives, see what's going on, etc. etc.

Is this just for sixwordstories?

And the occasional prompt at justprompts

So we need to assume that the biggest difference between this Harvey and other Harveys is that he's followed by a giant jungle cat?

Yis.

You're weird

This is livejournal and I take that as a compliment. :)

Does this mean you're going to not do any other storylines?

Absolutely not. Gotham's Dark Materials get's it's own tag. I'm just going to add it to my usual tags. :)

IronMan. "These Toys"

Thu, 19 Jun 2008 00:48:11 GMT

Title: Toys-in the end.
Fandom: Iron Man, Movie verse
Characters/Pairings: Pepper/Tony, Pepper Potts, Tony Stark, Happy Hogan.
Rating: PG for a bit of language.
Genre: Introspection.
Summary: Pepper Potts hates military functions. She feels like an accomplice to a crime half of the time. The other half of the time she feels like a babysitter to a man who doesn’t realize that in the end they’re all just toys.
Notes: …half Babysitter and half accomplice. That’s pretty much where girls come into the equation with most of the world. Am I right?

Half the time at these conferences she feels like an accomplice.

They are men who are by default the masters of the universe. They wear bright shiny buttons proclaiming this fact to all who stand around them. They mean something (Tony explained it once) but she’d let it in one ear and out the other. They are boys given powerful toys, and they serve only as trophies for one boy to point out to another. There is little difference, she thinks, watching a soldier try unsuccessfully to charm one of the few other females at this gathering (a senator, she thinks) by picking out a flag.

Flag pin or firing arm recognition, there is little difference between a bit of gold and something like a snake skull or a pigeon shot with a bb gun. By default masters of the Universe. She felt like screaming.

There was Thunderbolt Ross regaling a group of old pelicans with a war story, a cigar in his mouth spewing ash into the sky like mount Vesuvius. Even the ones who looked harmless-like that Doctor Bruce Banner-were ensconced with other males probably trying to pick out other symbols to set themselves apart.

All this talk, all this pomp and circumstance for the biggest game of all. Pepper Potts closes her eyes and fights off an incoming headache. The biggest player is coming over, the double roller-the one holding park place and Broadway himself. Mr. Parker Brothers-Tony Stark.

He pats another cronies on the back and sends him off, “…you look glum.”

“Too much wine.”

“There is a lie if I’ve ever heard one.” The momentary concern doesn’t fool her. He stares at her, intense, “…Pepper?”

She shakes her head. This is a dinner to honor a man for designing a weapon that would make them the biggest king on the hill. It felt as though the world were standing atop a massive mountain with all the countries and all the people struggling to make it to the top.

She shook her head, “…I’m tired.”

“…It’s almost over. I’ve got some kind of award-ridiculous really then we ah-adjourn for drinks. Or they adjourn. I’m getting sick of it.”

Hope kindles like a brief flame. A single ember ignites ash. It flickers in Pepper Potts’s heart. As the big player he could stop the game any time he chose, he could take away all the pieces. They would bluster and they would scream but in the end what could they say? He was Anthony Stark.

His was the final word, the polished bit of gold born in his highbred mouth, the biggest dead bird, and the biggest skull trophy. By virtue of birth and blessings from unforeseen and probably smiling god he was king of the steppe they’d reached in their quest for the top of the mountain.

And the thing was, he’d sounded so serious. She studied him, tilting her head to the side as she found herself looking down the end of her well manicured nails, “. Sick?”

“Yeah, of the whole process you know? Sometimes I wish it’d just stop-“

The ember turned into a glow.

“Stop completely. The whole machine. It’s been going for so long now what’s the whole goddamn point? Are people that needy that they need to acknowledge every little goddamn thing? Do they need to pick it apart with their teeth? I mean c’mon, we’re not monkeys grooming each other-looking for grubs. Am I right?”

It generated heat.

She could raise her head in public. She could speak to her mother again. People wouldn’t look at her weirdly when they saw the Stark industry sticker on her car. By god it would be hard but she could make it work and Tony-Tony-

He did not look a player anymore. He looked more of a man then the rest of then, false bravado and swagger. No, here was a figure that could be different-make real strides! That was what a woman wanted!

His conviction tore at her, “…you look like you agree.”

She nodded mutely, “The whole thing is ridiculous.”

“…Glad we’re in agreement. So if General Ross wants to throw another party like this you can tell him we disincline to come okay?” He patted her on the shoulder, “Excuse me, I think that’s my cue.”

The music was picking up as the flame in her heart sputtered out. The man degenerated into a little boy again with the biggest pile of toys standing at the podium. She cursed herself for believing him. That was Tony Stark, highbred genius born without any idea of the world he lived in.

She shook her head. One of the Senators leaned across the table to stare at her, “Are you all right?”

“It’s the wine.”

A sympathetic, if somewhat shrewd nod as she put a hand to her head. Tony, thankfully, was not one for big speeches.
----------

“Give him some time to grow up Miss Potts.”

He’s in the house and she’s staring at Happy like he has corn growing out of his cauliflower ears, “…What?”

“…Just give him some time to grow up.”

Tony did march to the beat of a different drummer and he had shown compassion before. The potential to make real strides was there it would just take…something.

Something might not come, but Pepper Potts had been a personal assistant for a very long time, she could afford to wait for something. Something was a click of the mouse a change in the wind or another man taking fortune into his own hands and setting aside his toys to accomplish something real.

Why do you want it to be him?

Tony insisted that they stop at a video game store to purchase something. He didn’t want to play with this “Wii”; he wanted to take it apart to see how it worked. She finds him spread out on a worktable bench completely oblivious to them all.

He really was just a child.

She could only hope that he would stand up, be the man she suspected he could be if pushed before he did something stupid with the toys he held.
</lj-cut

Half Life: Survival

Thu, 19 Jun 2008 00:47:06 GMT

[Error: Irreparable invalid markup ('<see what?>') in entry. Owner must fix manually. Raw contents below.]

Title: Survival
Fandom: Half Life/HDM (His dark materials crossover)
Characters/Pairings: Barney Calhoun and Rachel, his Lab Daemon. A few OCs.
Rating: PG for daemon intercession.
Summary; promotion in the Metro Police Step One. Erase everything that makes you human. Barney is willing to do what it takes to survive, but he’s not quite willing to go that far.
Notes: This once again comes from the mind of camwyn who suggested (ironically) that in a daemon verse there might very well be people who’d had inciricsion done. The idea of making it a prerequisite of promotion was all me. Sometimes it feels like in order to get ahead in this world you really have to cut out the best parts of who you are.

Barney’s Supervisor is far too accepting, but that’s beside the point.

<lj-cut text="He would never let her go in a million years. Never.">

Survival. People say the word and don’t talk about what it means, they point to people feeling the need for it and don’t give it a second thought. The Seven Hours war changed that thought for all mankind.

It changed them. They were beaten and they were beaten badly. Mankind’s superiority reduced to smoldering ash, a falling leaf as autumn waned in the world. The bowed, the scraped and the smacked to the floor as they lay eagle spread. Barney Calhoun laughs. It’s all he can do to survive now. The cop finally caught us with the most dangerous illegal substance of all-freedom. Get down on your fucking knees and spread um bitches!

Rachel sneezes. Barney feels a stab of pity. As bad as it is for him he can only imagine what it is like for the daemons. Imagine the combine’s glee at discovering a race with such a viable handicap. He’d seen it- seen the men and women who had been mankind’s duly appointed leaders scream as alien hands reached for the animal walking beside them. Even the threat of touch from such creatures was abhorrent.

He stands up a little straighter and motions people on through. Survival, people say the word and don’t talk about what it means.

Someone raises his gaze to him a little longer then he should as Barney feels a stab of pity. He knew the kid-but there was a camera.

He brought the baton down on the boy’s head even as his cat screamed and screamed, held securely in Rachel’s teeth.

You have to think about survival kid. You can’t recognize me, we don’t exist do you hear? Goddamnit, you brought this on yourself!

Anger gives way to suspicion. When they are sure that the cameras are on the boy being tortured Rachel leans against his knee, the softest of touches. It’s over in an instant. Survive, no contact-a pity nobody ever considered what it could mean to him or her as a whole.
-----------

“92117, we are incredibly pleased.”

There is something distinctly wrong with the man in front of him. Barney can’t put his finger on it. His Boar daemon sits rigid in front of his desk regarding Rachel.

“We would like to ask you to consider promotion once again.”

He folded his hands as the boar leaned forward, seeming to mimic his gesture.

“…I would be honored sir-“

A hand was raised, a very good was promised, “…But I fear that I’d be useless behind a desk in a position of command. I feel better being able to serve where I am able to do the most good.”

He tasted bile. Rachel stood rigid beside him, tail low. Submissive-survive and be submissive. We are the bowed, the scraped and the forgotten.

“On the front lines making sure that this resistance is…extinguished.”

“That.” The man said with a nod, “Would be a feather in your cap that you could use 92117.” The man flipped open a file, “There have been lapses-“

Rachel knew this part like a role in a play. She lowered her head, absolutely chagrined as Barney sat rigid. Her shame was evident to everyone, his superior, and the cameras watching-

And the Boar who nodded mutely, snuffling before looking to his superior who nodded-voice mute, “…Such lapses are to be forgiven. You could not have known that those children would escape.”

“I blame myself sir.”

The man rose and Barney once again wondered what was off. He walked straighter, a little taller but there was something distant about his facial features. He appeared to be looking at a spot no one could see.

“Our leaders have done such good…” he spoke the company byline by route, “All I want to do is serve.”

“…Catch this résistance leader and you shall.”

He nearly knocked Barney down with the slap on the back, “Come along. I want to show you something.”

The Boar trailed after him as an afterthought. Rachel looked up to Barney, tail moving halfheartedly, feigning excitement. << Did you see that? >>

<<See what? >> Thank god for thought speak. It was risky, but thank god.

<<…It was almost like she forgot she was supposed to follow…>>

They had no more to say as they were ushered into a circular room with a massive blade in the middle. An electro-static screen.

“…In their wisdom our leaders have seen fit to separate us from our more…baser-human instincts. There-92117 is the first step to promotion I sincerely hope you will choose to follow.”

Barney watches in horror as a young woman is led into the area, sat in the left chair. A monkey (Barney guessed it was a Rhesus monkey) sat in the right space. The monkey, in a desperate effort to reestablish contact put a paw on the glass.

The woman did not so much as glance up.

“You are close to…Rachel?”

She was his only companion for the longest time. It is one thing to love; it is another to have your lover be able to touch your most secret places, your inner sanctum, and your essence of self. Barney swallows bile, head moving in the tightest of nods.

<< This is Bad Barney. >>

“Begin the procedure.”

He talks throughout the entire thing. Barney forces himself to listen to the sound of the bastard’s voice droning on and on. Of all the crimes the combine had committed, of all the evil they had perpetrated in the world this was the final insult, the final degradation. He listens and absorbs every word and doubts he will be able to forget it because it is his way of surviving the torture that he sees before him.

“These mistakes that you’ve made are the result of listening to base human instincts that we no longer have need for. In eons past, daemons were important contributors to our existence, but they serve little and less purpose now. Without a warning, without being constricted by the moments of…Rachel.”

His lips curl in a sneer.

“Think of what you will be able to accomplish. You wish to serve? There is no greater way to serve here and now.”

Barney’s stomach recoils. The woman steps out of the chair and stares down at the monkey dispassionately before being led off. The ape follows halfheartedly behind her.

He exchanges glances with Rachel, staring at the chair.

“…The surest way to advance your career 92117…”

“Sir.”

<< What are you doing? >> Rachel screamed << How does this go with your idea of survival? >>

“My daemon has proved a valuable asset. I might be constricted-in fact I am frequently constricted-however there are occasions…”

He nodded mutely, looking to the dog at his side and trying to picture disconnecting with her, “…Where she is an apprehension tool.”

“I’ve seen such tools. The old world used them.”

“And they are still effective sir. Until we have quashed the last of the rebellion. Give me an opportunity to do just that, to place fear into the hearts of these…. backward people? And I can promise you results.”

The supervisor looked ready to refuse. His boar gestured to the guards-Barney watched a python slither across the floor followed by a Cheetah’s stalking movement. Rachel forced herself to remain perfectly still as the supervisor held up a hand.

“You’re an old fashioned man. I had high hopes you would agree to this offer, I don’t make offers like this every day.”

Barney found his words in a treasure trove of confusion and fear, “Then I shall have to work even harder in the hopes that you will offer them again.”

That made the supervisor laugh. It was an awkward noise as Barney wondered if daemons somehow controlled laughter, “…Well said 92117. Another day then.”

He leads them out, the python hissing to itself as they flee.
--------

Barney turns off all the cameras when he gets home. He turns off all the cameras and grabs hold of Rachel like a child would hold their daemon close.

She blinks-balking and struggling however briefly before pressing herself as close to his chest as she can get, “…What about survival?”

“Not when it means loosing you.”

He buries his face in her fur. She smells like childhood, like all the good things that he remembered and was ready to fight for once again. Her whine dissipates, “…Barney…”

“What about survival?”

They share a knowing look. It is difficult to surprise someone you share a heart and a brain with.
“That chair will come back.”

That chair with its cold metal frame that screen, that electrostatic charge-a combine piece of machinery if he’d ever seen one.

Barney closes his eyes, “We stop trying to survive today and start trying to accomplish something.”

“…Now?”

It was time to accomplish something bigger and better. Barney nodded mutely. He turned the cameras back on-survival. Take only a few seconds to embrace human emotion, do whatever you have to do to make sure you don’t get caught. He eats and sleeps, his daemon at the foot of his bed like always.

At 23:41 the camera catches something odd. It notes the idiosyncrasy and files it away. The daemon moved up half an inch sleeping atop the human’s legs rather then the required distance. Probably a mistake, Officer 92117 was a good Enforcement officer. It resolved to ask about it in the morning before deciding that it was probably pointless. A shift in sleeping pattern. Nothing to be concerned about.

It deleted the file and continued on its rounds.

</lj-cut>

Half Life: Well, now we're even.

Tue, 17 Jun 2008 23:07:14 GMT

Title: Now we’re even
Fandom: Half-Life/HDM (His Dark Materials Crossover)
Genre: Humorous One-Shot
Rating: G.
Summary: Gordon blew up a microwave; Barney blew up a Kitchen sink. Now they’re even.
Notes: Cam asked for daemon fiction, and since I’ve gone through most of my fandom and written this story this one kind of wrote itself. Given what she’s said Gordon’s daemon is I think it’d be pretty funny to see a tiny paramecium floating away in its sphere as the person helplessly swam after it.

For the record, Gordon's daemon is Shakti while Barney's is Rachel annnnd...They are different in this because I forgot.

Bwop.

Black Mesa General Repair usually fell to the security guards. It wasn’t a job that Barney minded doing, there was a time in his life he wasn’t particularly proud of where he’d done far worse things (cleaning grills and fryers came to mind) but it did make things rather difficult.

He sat in front of the kitchen sink and willed himself to find the hole-something that to her credit Lara was actually assisting with. The Retriever sat, nose on her paws scrutinizing every inch of the compartment before pointing with her nose, “…There.”

Ahah! Barney nodded once, pulling a clamp from his toolkit and moving slowly toward the sucker. He was sitting in less then an inch of water, one delicate move would close the pipe forever while another far harsher move, noise, anything would keep it open, perhaps worsen the problem.

He inched forward-

“Barn?”

Barney jumped. He half-heard Lara’s yelp as the tool twisted to the left in his hand opening the gash several more instances.

“Carl!”

Carl Vance ran a hand over his bat daemon, “…Barn-what-“

A jet of water hit him in the chest. Barney shot him a dirty look, “do you mind? DO I INTERRUPT YOU WHILE YOU ARE TRYING TO REARRANGE SPACE AND TIME?”

Carl blinked. A steady jet, almost like spit (or piss for that matter) was hitting Barney in the chest. Lara was the one who growled.

“…Sorry.” He added the Geez as he stroked Bruce’s wing. The bat shook his head, taking to flight beside the doctor, “…What the hell’s his problem?”

This is the problem with general repair of any sort. Barney shook his head, grabbing for his clamp again. At any moment someone was bound to interrupt you just as you were doing something incredibly crucial to the survival of whatever you were trying to repair.

Didn’t the scientists see that?

“My paws are getting wet.” Lara whined, “Can’t we stop?”

His hands were damp, sweaty. He attributed that to nervousness rather then the fact that his daemon’s feet were almost ankle deep by now, “…We’re almost done.”

“We were almost done ten minutes ago.”

“Look, just because you’re needing to leave supposedly reflects my needing to leave? Doesn’t mean that we can leave the job half done.” He grimaced, “One more clamp.”

“Better clamp it right.”

He inched closer. Metal touched metal and he prepared to squeeze-

“Ah! Officer Calhoun.”

The clamp squeezed tight, providing a hell of a lot more pressure then he’d intended. He shot up straight. Dr. Isaac Kleiner’s face glowed like the supposed moon outside. (It had been so long since he and Lara had seen the moon he considered it less then a rumor.)

The grilling was less painful then he’d imagined. Kleiner’s dour hawk continued to glare down at Lara who managed to stand-tail erect like the marine with the brownest nose in the goddamn unit.

“…In any case, keep up the good…what on earth is that?”

It was very possible that it couldn’t be anything from earth. Barney didn’t put it past this place. Bracing himself for an invasion, he put a hand on his hip as Lara raised her eyes to the sink.

“…That sounds like-“

Kleiner’s hawk spoke, rising off his master’s shoulder and staring wide-eyed and confused, “…Gurgling-“

“Barney.”

Lara’s voice was soft.

“How hard did you clamp that pipe shut?”

Chain reaction follows starting event. That is the first and foremost law of nature. Cut off the flow of something and pressure will eventually build until-

“Look out!” The hawk dove to the floor, dragging Dr. Kleiner down with him, “IT’S GOING TO BLOW!”

Barney didn’t have any time to ask “What?” as the Sink exploded spraying water in all directions.
-----------

“You’re suspended for how long?”

“A week. Possibly more.”

Gordon smiled, “…Well. It could have been worse. I would have fired your ass.”

“That’s a nice thing to say coming from a friend.” Lara shot Gordon a dirty look as Barney scratched her behind an ear, “…What-I ruin something crucial?”

“…Yeah. I love being on my lunch break and suddenly feeling that incredible pain that comes with having my daemon being dragged away on the afternoon tide.”

Barney’s mouth opened and closed as he studied the ball Gordon held securely in his hands, earth made miniature, “…Sorry…”

<< Did you fix the leak? >>

“…We’re uh…not going to be using that break room for awhile…”

Gordon rolled his eyes, “Barney-“

Barney had had it, “. But you know what’s working fine?” He smiled, standing up straight, “The microwave.”

<>

“Cause hey? At least the microwave’s fine. At least I didn’t blow up anything in the microwave.”

<

[Error: Irreparable invalid markup ('<barney!>') in entry. Owner must fix manually. Raw contents below.]

Title: Now we’re even
Fandom: Half-Life/HDM (His Dark Materials Crossover)
Genre: Humorous One-Shot
Rating: G.
Summary: Gordon blew up a microwave; Barney blew up a Kitchen sink. Now they’re even.
Notes: Cam asked for daemon fiction, and since I’ve gone through most of my fandom and written this story this one kind of wrote itself. Given what she’s said Gordon’s daemon is I think it’d be pretty funny to see a tiny paramecium floating away in its sphere as the person helplessly swam after it.

For the record, Gordon's daemon is Shakti while Barney's is Rachel annnnd...They are different in this because I forgot.

Bwop.

<lj-cut text="do you mind? DO I INTERRUPT YOU WHILE YOU ARE TRYING TO REARRANGE SPACE AND TIME?">

Black Mesa General Repair usually fell to the security guards. It wasn’t a job that Barney minded doing, there was a time in his life he wasn’t particularly proud of where he’d done far worse things (cleaning grills and fryers came to mind) but it did make things rather difficult.

He sat in front of the kitchen sink and willed himself to find the hole-something that to her credit Lara was actually assisting with. The Retriever sat, nose on her paws scrutinizing every inch of the compartment before pointing with her nose, “…There.”

Ahah! Barney nodded once, pulling a clamp from his toolkit and moving slowly toward the sucker. He was sitting in less then an inch of water, one delicate move would close the pipe forever while another far harsher move, noise, anything would keep it open, perhaps worsen the problem.

He inched forward-

“Barn?”

Barney jumped. He half-heard Lara’s yelp as the tool twisted to the left in his hand opening the gash several more instances.

“Carl!”

Carl Vance ran a hand over his bat daemon, “…Barn-what-“

A jet of water hit him in the chest. Barney shot him a dirty look, “do you mind? DO I INTERRUPT YOU WHILE YOU ARE TRYING TO REARRANGE SPACE AND TIME?”

Carl blinked. A steady jet, almost like spit (or piss for that matter) was hitting Barney in the chest. Lara was the one who growled.

“…Sorry.” He added the Geez as he stroked Bruce’s wing. The bat shook his head, taking to flight beside the doctor, “…What the hell’s his problem?”

This is the problem with general repair of any sort. Barney shook his head, grabbing for his clamp again. At any moment someone was bound to interrupt you just as you were doing something incredibly crucial to the survival of whatever you were trying to repair.

Didn’t the scientists see that?

“My paws are getting wet.” Lara whined, “Can’t we stop?”

His hands were damp, sweaty. He attributed that to nervousness rather then the fact that his daemon’s feet were almost ankle deep by now, “…We’re almost done.”

“We were almost done ten minutes ago.”

“Look, just because you’re needing to leave supposedly reflects my needing to leave? Doesn’t mean that we can leave the job half done.” He grimaced, “One more clamp.”

“Better clamp it right.”

He inched closer. Metal touched metal and he prepared to squeeze-

“Ah! Officer Calhoun.”

The clamp squeezed tight, providing a hell of a lot more pressure then he’d intended. He shot up straight. Dr. Isaac Kleiner’s face glowed like the supposed moon outside. (It had been so long since he and Lara had seen the moon he considered it less then a rumor.)

The grilling was less painful then he’d imagined. Kleiner’s dour hawk continued to glare down at Lara who managed to stand-tail erect like the marine with the brownest nose in the goddamn unit.

“…In any case, keep up the good…what on earth is that?”

It was very possible that it couldn’t be anything from earth. Barney didn’t put it past this place. Bracing himself for an invasion, he put a hand on his hip as Lara raised her eyes to the sink.

“…That sounds like-“

Kleiner’s hawk spoke, rising off his master’s shoulder and staring wide-eyed and confused, “…Gurgling-“

“Barney.”

Lara’s voice was soft.

“How hard did you clamp that pipe shut?”

Chain reaction follows starting event. That is the first and foremost law of nature. Cut off the flow of something and pressure will eventually build until-

“Look out!” The hawk dove to the floor, dragging Dr. Kleiner down with him, “IT’S GOING TO BLOW!”

Barney didn’t have any time to ask “What?” as the Sink exploded spraying water in all directions.
-----------

“You’re suspended for how long?”

“A week. Possibly more.”

Gordon smiled, “…Well. It could have been worse. I would have fired your ass.”

“That’s a nice thing to say coming from a friend.” Lara shot Gordon a dirty look as Barney scratched her behind an ear, “…What-I ruin something crucial?”

“…Yeah. I love being on my lunch break and suddenly feeling that incredible pain that comes with having my daemon being dragged away on the afternoon tide.”

Barney’s mouth opened and closed as he studied the ball Gordon held securely in his hands, earth made miniature, “…Sorry…”

<< Did you fix the leak? >>

“…We’re uh…not going to be using that break room for awhile…”

Gordon rolled his eyes, “Barney-“

Barney had had it, “. But you know what’s working fine?” He smiled, standing up straight, “The microwave.”

<<Aw come on… >>

“Cause hey? At least the microwave’s fine. At least I didn’t blow up anything in the microwave.”

<<Barney! >> The daemon’s chastising voice in his head was silenced. Gordon could look pretty damn scary when he wanted to. `

“I suppose.” Gordon said, “We’re even now?”

“Like hell. That was my burrito.”

“…In one of the best break rooms in the building.” Gordon rose, gripping the ball under his arm, “…We’re even.”

“We’re totally not!”

<< I can only hope this trend of escalation won’t continue. >> Deep within her globe, Gordon’s daemon shook herself, << A sink, and a microwave what’s next? >>

“The building.”

Lara’s voice was so matter of fact, so correctly on the money that all present, humans and daemons alike burst out laughing.

Vantage Point/Happening: "The Judas Strain"

Tue, 17 Jun 2008 23:05:20 GMT

Title: Judas Strain
Fandom: Vantage Point/The Happening
Genre: Crossover
Rating: R for character Death.
Summary: The Death of Thomas Barnes and the understanding of President Ashton. “I would rather we ran and fought-otherwise we’ll look pretty silly when the rest of the countries show up on Heaven or Hell’s Doorstep.”
Notes: …Book title and Definition comes from James Rollins “The Judas Strain”. What an interesting title huh? Srsly.

Everything that day was beautiful, the grass-the trees-the sky. For a city that normally exuded (at least, to President Ashton’s eyes) the occasional worst of everything the world was, today it was at peace and peaceful.

He saw none of it. A state of emergency had been declared in New York City hours ago. He had fled, trying to reconcile this need to give the country a leader with what he’d seen.

He had been outside reading.

No reports, no nothing. He had simply been outside reading while Thomas and one of the new men patrolled the rose garden. A light breeze blew, he turned the page.

“Think it might rain?”

Their voices had been trading conversation for the better part of an hour. He ignored it, focusing instead on what he was reading. Ian Fleming sometimes required absolute concentration.

“How the hell should I know?” Barnes leaned back, sitting down in a chair with a sigh, “Too pretty out to even suggest that.”

“It looks like rain to me.”

President Ashton glanced upward himself. Gray was gathering in the corner of the world that Washington occupied-coming from New York’s direction. “Mmn. He might be right Thomas.”

That had been when Kay burst in. His wife’s normally immaculate appearance was frazzled, he remembered. Blond hair flying in all directions she gripped the doorframe to stare at them all, “Harry, it’s-“

“New York.”

Barnes was on his feet as his colleague tapped his earpiece, “They’ve got new York. Some kind of Toxin.”

Toxin?

Suddenly the fictional world of Fleming didn’t seem so important. He dropped the book, stomach turning. A toxin! Nobody would dare. They talked about it, they played up the scares for the media but that was all it was. Nobody actually thought that anyone would ever dare…

“I think it might definitely rain.”

Ashton turned. Nakamura was standing a few feet away looking at the sky. He adjusted his tie, expression grim and…strange.

There was something a little off about it, come to think of it. Both Kay and Harold stared.

Kay spoke first, “...Hiroshi?”

Hiroshi Nakamura was Twenty-Nine years old.

“…Think it might rain.”

An ex-marine who had given all he had to his country.

“…Rain…”

The wind played with the garden around them all as Hiroshi Nakamura pulled out his sidearm, put it against his temple and blew his brains out.

Thomas reacted. As well he should, President Ashton thought wryly. He’s saved me from worse.

Had it truly been worse though? Worse then seeing a man commit suicide right in front of them-pulling out his gun and just ending it all because-because-

“Run Sir!”

Barnes pushed at them, trying to follow through the open door of the house. Kay went through first, the President pushing her off of him as she darted away within. He stopped, turned to make sure his chief of staff was following…

The toxin. It had to be. Ashton’s eyes closed, “…Thomas?”

Thomas Barnes had saved his life twice. First in New York, Second in Salamanca. He had gone above and beyond the call of duty for devotion to his president.

The ultimate helplessness. Not just of a leader who couldn’t save his most trusted guard, but of a man who could not save his friend.

Thomas Barnes stood in the doorway of the oval office, hands at his sides-completely rigid. Dimly-Ashton registered that he should go. That it was going to come after him, that he might already be exposed-

“Run Sir.”

That same blank tone. Nakamura’s body congealed on the grass outside. The wind continued to blow.

“Run sir…”

“…Thomas-Fight it!”

He didn’t approach. He stood with his hands balled into fists praying that his friend would win.

“Fight it Thomas! Fight it!”

“Run…”

Strangest of all was when he walked backwards, out into the garden. With that peculiar blank expression on his face, he pulled out his gun. Terror gripped the leader of the free world-was this their goal? To get inside the minds of his most trusted and-and-

“Run.”

The noise that his brains made was something President Harold Ashton would take to the grave. He ran, slamming the doors behind him. Obeying his last request, the least he could do for the chief of his security detail.

On the plane they called it an “Event”

“It’s nothing of ours.”

A pity. Ashton would have liked nothing more then to serve up some idiotic military scientist on a platter to whatever remained of the American Public. His eyes closed. He could still hear his friend’s bodily matter splattering the world.

“Find out who’s responsible.” The Vindictiveness wasn’t something he normally practiced, but by god-by god by Christ he was going to find whoever was responsible and-what?

Give them a trial. For if we do not have basic human decency to cling to in such times we have nothing.

His eyes closed. The impossibly blue sky was turning gray. They would be flying for as long as it took-fuelers were taking off from California on a regular basis. That was where he was headed-a bunker in one of the busiest states in the Union.

He took Kay’s hand, running his fingers over hers.

“Judas Strain.”
Kay was a politician even as much as he was, “…What honey?”

“A scientific term for an organism that drives an entire species to extinction.”

His hands curl.

“…Not if we can help it.”

“He told you to run.” Her voice was small, “He told you to run. He told us to run.”

“That’s why we have to turn and fight.” He couldn’t believe what he was saying. He had never advocated violence in his presidency, “…We have to go down swinging for all the people who couldn’t run. That’s what America does.”

“What if…if…”

“…I think when we show up en masse on Heaven’s doorstep or the other location, I’d much rather have them remember America for fighting then sitting there doing nothing. Accepting it.”

She laughed. A hollow sound, an impossible noise on an impossible day.

Misc. Movies: "The Happening"

Tue, 17 Jun 2008 22:54:48 GMT

Title: The Wind Blew In, the Wind blew Out
Fandom: Misc. Movies, “The Happening”
Rating: R. For massive death and suicide.
Summary: “There is an event taking place on the West Coast…”
Notes: I have to do this to San Diego every time there’s a movie like this. It’s kind of a prerogative sort of thing. I did it with “Terminator”, I did it with “Resident Evil” (although we survived that kinda) So even though the happening sucked I kind of wanted to do it again.

The air was thick with the scent of fire when the wind blew in.

Controlled fire, contained fire. It was Earth Day, such as it was. People were paying more attention but ninety percent of the people in San Diego’s Balboa Park were using it as an excuse to party.

Why? There was an undercurrent of celebration. It had been almost three years since the massive incident that had prompted most of America to go green. It had been three years and they had the smug sense of superiority that comes from people who know they are right. It was a reason to party, and Balboa Park was the center of the festivities.

“Joan, as you can see there are barbecues and personal tents set up with all kinds of food-fun-and games out here supporting mother earth in addition to local San Diego businesses…”

Christine Taylor was trying to keep the smile on her face, wondering how it looked to the audience. This was a puff piece, little more then smoke and mirrors-everybody who was anybody was already down here…

Give me something. She pleaded, picking people at random. Give me a car chase, a police shootout, something exciting so I can get the hell out of here!

This was clearly no position for a big time reporter. The CNN guys might be watching and honestly, San Diego was great?

But it was a stepping-stone to bigger and better things.

A few of the trees rattled, “…The weather is perfect. It’s sixty eight degrees and sunny and there’s a beautiful breeze-What brings you out here?”

She zeroed in on a teenage girl. Her shirt was green (probably organic) her long blond hair blowing in the breeze. She held a lollypop in her hand, trading licks between shy glances at the camera. Well tanned, a perfect specimen of California Life.

“I think it’s important that we support mother earth y’know?”

“That’s fantastic.” Christine lied, “Why is it important?”

“I think it’s important that we support mother earth.”

Never ask for something you are not prepared for. All too often someone is listening, someone is paying attention and that someone-inevitably-can give you exactly what you want.

“…I’m sorry?”

Christine withdrew her microphone, “…Ken-“

The girl was oblivious to them. The perfect specimen of California life stared glassy eyed into the camera-as if she’d never seen one before.

“…Mother…”

Some instinct was tugging on Christine’s brain, some part of her that her human genetics was trying to get her to remember.

“…Ma’am? Hey-“

It was the absence of sound this instinct had noticed. The cacophony that was San Diego was dying all around her-fits and starts.

There was a noise on the wind, the breeze that seemed to be increasing.

“Moth…”

Cold fear wrapped hands around Christine Taylor’s throat. She dropped the mike as the girl started walking backwards.

“Christie! Christie!” Joan’s voice was frantic, “Can you tell us what’s happening out there!”?

The absence of sound was leaving. It was running out on quiet feet its hands slapping her in the face with a noise-a noise-

The studio of Channel nine (KUSN) had gone dead quiet as Christie Taylor picked up the camera, “…It’s quiet too.”

The ballet behind the scenes escalated. The anchors stared at the picture. Christine Taylor had remained dry-eyed with that kid who’d committed suicide. She’d colored with children with no hands, she was ice cold.

There was a hissing sound. Her interviewee had vanished as Christie picked up the camera, apparently taking it out of Ken’s hands.

“…Christie?”

Joe, the lead anchor, shuffled his papers, “…Should we cut?”

“Not on your life.” Joan hissed, “Christie?”

“It’s quiet.”

Neither anchor could stifle their screams as the lens impacted with Christine Taylor’s normally pristine and professional face.

“Christie!”

“Jesus Christ!”

Her words were broken, mumbling as she slammed the camera into her face once again. A bit of glass hung from her nose, like a stray mucous strand. It took three tries before the camera slipped from her lifeless hands and dropped to the ground hissing static like a wounded animal.
--------

Carl Simpson felt like screaming. The drive thru line for Burger Castle wrapped into the parking lot, angry motorists waving their hands before finally giving up and pulling away only to have new cars take their places. Burger Castle had never dropped the ball like this, particularly this one. He’d always counted on those familiar forecastles with waving flags as a symbol that he’d get a hot meal quickly.

“-Da-ad…”

His son Roger liked their toys.

He growled something unintelligible, pulling into a parking space near the front and moving past a hurried group of men and women looking at their cellular phones in concern. He moved through the glass doors, being chased by hunger and his occasionally bratty son’s whine.

“…Start taking the orders.” A short Asian woman barked. He recognized her as the manager, “Tania, do me a favor and call Texas Okay?”

A stout Mexican girl picked up the microphone, “…Hi, welcome to Burger Castle, what can we make for you today?”

One of the better cashiers, a girl named Figueroa, smiled a tired smile at him. She looked like she’d been through the wringer twice, her normally brownish blond hair plastered to her head, “…Hey Carl, the usual?”

This was why he liked coming here, personal and professional service, “…I’ve got my son with me.”

“How’s he doin?” Her fingers moved over the keys, “Did he like those Racer toys?”

“He loved um’.” Carl pulled out his wallet, “Hey, what’s the big deal with your guy’s drive thru? We tried to go through-“

Maureen Figueroa wasn’t above gossiping. He’d learned more from her about this business in the month that he’d started coming here then he had when he was actually working minimum wage.

“We can’t raise our call center.” She shook her head, “…Edna is pissed-we’re talking like a racehorse pissed. “ She ignored her boss’s dirty look, “There is something seriously nuts going on over there…which means I’ll probably be here forever.”

Someone threw the door open, the glass almost shattering. Carl jumped, his fellow fast food patrons glaring at the workers who’d burst in like the second coming.

Maureen shook her head. A breeze filtered through the wind, the trees outside picking up and practically shaking.

“…What can I make for you today sir?”

Carl frowned. He turned to Maureen, curious about her tone. She never spoke with less then the utmost grace.

“…Excuse me?”

He did a double take. Her eyes were staring at him, unblinking. It was straight out of a movie, straight out of that Invasion of the Body Snatchers crap.

“What can I make?”

Her hand lowered. Carl took a step back only to realize that everyone in the restaurant was standing.

They were five total. Two kids in the left corner, an elderly man wearing a sunhat and a businessman with a laptop. The fifth-he was pleased to see-was an EMT holding a bag of food. The niggling feeling that he should leave, now, crossed his mind as he peered into the kitchen.

The drive thru was in the corner to the right. The fat chick he saw earlier held the microphone into her ear.

“Welcome to Burger Castle.”

He could almost hear the hapless motorist screaming.

No wait that was screaming. Coming from outside. He thought of Roger, he thought of his wife and turned-frozen-to Maureen once again.

“Welcome to Burger Castle.”

The manager held up her hands. Moving like a professional he saw her walk into the back and heard a loud hiss-a crackling noise. The smell was the worst, that thick chalky almost sweet smell…

Maureen remained stationary as he watched the kids step forward. One unhooked a skateboard from his arm and pushed off at full speed.

“NO! -“

The sound his body made hitting the glass outer wall of the restaurant was the worst sound in the world.

The wind was roaring.

“Make.”

At the entrance to the restaurant there was a statue of the Burger King. He held a sword in one hand, long and sharp and plastic. It couldn’t cut but he bet it could do some damage.

The noise filled his world just as Maureen turned to him, robotic in her stance. He thought that he saw something like horror in her eyes as she positioned herself directly in front of the plastic sword…

Walking forward.

Roger Simpson peered anxiously between the passenger side seat and the driver’s side seat. His father had been in there along time.

He needed to come out. He needed to come out because one of the workmen had just put a needle gun up to his head and fired. He needed to come out because the man from the radio shack had pulled out a car battery and jammed something metal into his stomache. He’d danced and Roger had tried to hide.

He was sobbing when his daddy came out the front door holding something in his hands. He smiled; hope shining in his wide and willing gaze as Carl held up something silver and sharp, drawing it across his throat.
-----------

They lay eagle spread, curled over, burned to a crisp. They were ash, smoke and mirrors as grass shifted and the wind roared around them.

A few stray scraps of paper blew past the Earth Day Celebration. It focused it’s attention on a reporter with a smashed in face. A few feet away, her cameraman lay with his neck broken. Climbing a tree when you’re forty can be hazardous to your health.

It was pleased, picking out the police officer’s whose guns had spread a trail of carnage and destruction. It took particular irony in the bodies spread across the pictures of aborted fetuses, bloody bits and human body parts.

It laughed aloud when it saw the handlers. The grass was red at the tiger cage, the beasts saying silent thank yous as they chewed and swallowed in their natural element. It blew past drowning victims, lingering briefly over a group of polar bears pulling a hapless sea world employee out of the fake lake.

They are all fish parts in the end.

It scattered north along abandoned highways, the few survivors trying to flee-panic overriding sense. Somehow, it figured that it would.

It found the Burger Castle, workplace of Maureen Figueroa and frequent eatery of Carl Simpson and his son. Maureen hung useless on a plastic sword, blood dripping from a massive gut wound. Her boss slumped to the floor, grease spraying in all directions. Her hands and faces a mutilated mess. It skittered away, past the bodies of the kids who’d run through the glass at full impact, past the old man who’d beaten himself to death with his own cane, over the EMT who’d put out his own eyes with his own needles.

To Carl Simpson, blood congealing on the sidewalk as his son wept in the passenger seat of his father’s car. It spared a final glance at the body of the Manager of the Radio Shack, still smoking on the concrete a few inches away, before sailing up into the breeze and vanishing into the distance.

It was sixty-four degrees and sunny, mild, a perfect day. The air was thick with the scent of death, the wind blew out.

Misc Fic: "A search for something different"

Tue, 17 Jun 2008 22:53:03 GMT

Title: Search for Difference
Fandom: Wicked/Batman crossover.
Genre: Crossover, frightening idea.
Characters: Liir Thropp, The Wicked Witch of the West, Harvey Dent, Batman, And The Joker.
Rating: PG13 for language
Summary: Liir, in his search for truth decides to explore another world finding that in searching for differences we can only find more similarities-and sometimes that’s really not such a bad thing.
Notes: …I just finished Wicked (Yes, behind the times, shaddup) and uh…this idea wouldn’t let go. The similarities really are striking; I can only hope it made some sort of mad sense.

To Danii. Who hopefully won’t condemn me to fandom hell for this crossover.

Since Dorothy he has dreamed.

He has dreamed of other worlds and other places since He has longed to find the world that she came from, to walk amongst its streets and shops. To explore. She never let him go anywhere; she insisted that the world in its entire terrible splendor was horribly cruel.

The place between worlds was an accident of happy proportions but it was something different. It was not another world, more like a gateway, a railway crossing where travelers met and continued on. There were the occasional familiar faces, vague pieces of a larger puzzle. God, Liir reasoned, is a creative individual running out of creativity fast or relying on convention. Oz was one world but there was a world of his existing somewhere in the future called “The OZ” There were Animals in a place called Narnia but there is no complete opposite to his place.

That is what he seeks, something different. Something so completely different from what he has (or apparently will have) that he shakes in his boots. It takes a while, he meets many different travelers before he picks one at random and follows through his door.

He is good at being quiet. He always has been.

This world is different. There were no Animals there, and people looked at you funny if you offered greetings to the squirrels in the trees or the creatures at the zoo.

The buildings were tall, the wind was harsh. The people were happy, the people were sad; the people were drugged and manic.

He picked one at random, “Who commands here?”

The man lit a cigarette, “…Who what?”

“Who commands? Who is your…” His voice trailed off, “Who is your leader?”

“…Really depends on who you ask kid.” His gaze lingered over him, “You ain’t from around here are you.”

It’s not a question, “No. I’m from out of town.”

“Oh.”

The sucker punch connects just a moment later. His benefactor turned thief holds up his gold coins, what little money he has on him with a massive grin, “Welcome to Gotham City kid!”

You will not find them different Liir. Her words promised him. He hated promises. They are callous and cruel even as we are. They lie, they cheat. They suppress and keep low the lower orders. Why do you want to go to them?
“To see something different.”

His bloodied words say different things. You never let me go anywhere.

Because I know that anywhere you go beyond this realm will probably be the last trip you ever take.
--------------

He replayed their conversation again in his head.

Aren’t you curious as a scientist?

As a scientist. That seemed to amuse her, what exactly should I be curious about?

The grimmarie came from another world. He points and she flinches, instantly on guard. Wouldn’t you like to meet the people of such a place?

I know three things about them. They are intelligent. They are diligent. And they are unbelievably cruel. These are the three things common in all the races and all the worlds. Our intelligence is nothing special, our diligence is what keeps us on top, and our cruelty is what makes us kings in whatever form we take. That is what you will find when you travel to another place.

There is a building of grandeur like the palace of the wizard in OZ. He shoulders his way through the crowd just as two men in coats wheel someone out. There are people screaming. He wonders who has died.

“Jesus, keep him breathing! Keep him breathing-He’s-“ someone screamed, “Oh Christ, the poor bastard’s face-“

Liir steps aside as one of the men he takes for a Gale Force guard (or perhaps a soldier) turns and vomits. He puts it out of his mind as they escort men from the steps of the building chattering-cheering-egging the crowd on.

“…Who did they kill?”

The man was undeniably a police officer. (Something in common on all worlds). He turned to Liir, “Who did they what?”

“Who did they kill? There was a white cart that took a man away-“

“The District Attorney.” The police officer looked distraught, “DA Dent. Gotham’s white knight. Those Mobster bastards.”

“…Was he your wizard?”

“Guess you could call him that. Kinda tried to clean up the city and look where it got him. What a fuckin’ world huh?”

“It’s good that he’s dying.”

Liir’s tone was succinct. So many things are in common between the worlds, this man had after all just admitted that their supposed savior was a wizard right?

“Wizards are terribly cruel. Give it time, he would have oppressed you and taken away your political rights and freedoms.”

The police officer shot him a confused look, the emotion giving way to disgust and horror as he moved away through the crowd.
------------

There are three.

That’s what people say. That’s what gives Liir pause. Had he stumbled from one world into another so very similar? There’s the District Attorney (Though all have given him up for dead.)

There was the Joker who he could only assume held a grip on the city via fascist religious rule. He found him raising his hands to toast to his success, the world burning as his smiling face grinned and grinned.

“HEY.”

He had been turning to leave he remembered. He should not have stopped.

“Are you the wizard?”

The joker’s men all laughed as the clown folded his hands, “…Me? Kid you’re lost. I’m not a fuckin’ wizard. Who the hell told you that?”

“Are you in league with him then?”

“I am in league with no one but Anarchy. No one but liberation son.” The joker nodded, “This City is my bitch, my whore, and she’s finally putting out after weeks of courting. I am the last of the angry gentlemen son.”

Mindless ramblings. Liir could see that. The distinct thread of truth was what bothered him. He spoke like a Quadling without the kindness, “…You are out of your element. No one will thrive in such a place.”

The clown blinked, “Eh?”

“You are out of your element and alone. You will not thrive. You will wither and you will perish. No one will accept you.”

The clown seemed annoyed by that, “I make people laugh.” His men circled in.

“And women weep.”

Liir found words on his tongue and a smile of his own just as hideous, “…Meet the new boss same as the old boss.”

That day the Narrows was never the same again as the last of the sane went mad. Only proper thing to do when someone flies out of your apartment complex on a fucking broom.
-----------

The third and final adept (he does not know what else to call him) he finds on a rooftop after feeling the Joker’s men.

Black as the night, black as sin something about the creature is inhuman while something is distinctly…

Reminiscent.

He hates this creature for that, “…Are you an Animal?”

The Batman (That’s what they called him) only stared. Liir looked deep, looked deep, as he had been taught and saw-

No animal, not even an Animal. Some bridge, the transition that his mother had been looking for. It is not such a reach from Animal to Man! He wondered if somewhere a goat was leaping for joy, something put to rest within him.

“I am Batman.”

Liir nodded, “I know.”

The creature didn’t pause, “You followed me here.”

So he, formerly a billionaire playboy had been the one Liir followed. His attention focused, Liir nodded mutely, “I wanted to see.”

“You could have asked.” The Batman’s voice is sharp, “You’re a danger to yourself and to me. You know…what I look like.”

“I know who you are.”

“…Keep it to yourself.” Batman snapped, “…We need to get you back.”

“I wanted to see.”

“And what have you seen?”

No Truth, no kindness that he thought all would have like Dorothy. Nothing but Intelligence misused, diligence applied to rising in the political order, and cruelty, cruelty above all, “…Nothing different.”

Reason flees. She couldn’t have been right-he refused to believe it. Fists curled, The Batman hesitates as the boy drops to his knees, “…She-You-You-“

Explaining that you expected something different in another world to a man dressed, as a giant bat would have just looked silly.

“…Not what you expected?”

“It’s all too similar.”

“You were looking for something that wasn’t?” The Batman leaned back, “Something beyond the spectrum and the scope of human potential and human power?”

“Something that goes beyond our intelligence, beyond our diligence and our capacity for cruelty against our fellow man? Something that stands out.”

Liir flinched before he nodded. Once.

“Don’t go looking for that kid.”

The batman pointed a finger at him, “What makes us unique is how long it takes for the answers to come to us. Could be days, could be weeks and could be hours but in the end the answers will come.”

“Your system is wrong.”

He can see it because he sees how things are put together in the end, “It’s giving you the wrong answers.”

Despite himself, the batman laughed. A dry throaty chuckle like the wind blowing around them wreaking havoc with his cape, “…Is that any different?”

Liir felt like crying, “…No.”
--------------

His door is in a hospital. Liir tiptoes past nurses and doctors moving with the same methodical care. His quest for difference a failure, his holy grail and his unicorn beyond his reach. He had picked the world most different from his own to find fanatics and Animals, adepts and apparent wizards with people who just didn’t care.

He wondered if he could go on living and wondered for the first time if this was how she had felt. His eyes close.

Didn’t I warn you?

The explosion rocks his world.

His door is one of the few standing and his hand was on it before he could think. Something tall-something with his face swathed in bandages moved out of the gloom to stare at him.

The self-proclaimed wizard. He did not look a Knight; he looked a sad broken man in a hospital gown.

Liir eyed him boldly with the fire burning all around him. No water in the world would put it out.

“…People are dying.”

The wizard said nothing.

“People are dying and what do you do? Nothing. Nothing like your predecessors, nothing likes your colleagues. Other world and other places and what do you have to show for it? Sameness, white bread conformity. Look at you-you’re broken.”

He did not need to see his injuries to know that.

“And in breaking you’ll find yourself cruel, a tyrant, inhospitable because that’s what people do. You failed me, I looked for difference and what did I find? I found similarity. You made her right you idiot. Why would you do a thing like that? What am I supposed to do when I find out that she’s been proven right? What should I do now that I know there is no difference between us? Now that I know I’m still me and that I’ll never change and that the old-the old bat was absolutely right?”

The Knight turned ghost speaks, “ Be thankful.”

He runs as Liir stares after him, mouth open in shock. Difference came when you made it-it did not rely on the conventions of the world you were born into. They could not all be Dorothy (as nice as that would be) He was still himself while some-quite a few were changed irrevocably. He was…dare he say it? Lucky.

He opened the door.
---------

And what did you find my boy? Intelligence?

Yes.

Diligence?

Beyond a doubt.

Cruelty?

In spades.

And what did we learn?

His smile unnerves her; he can almost see her shade spitting blood.

“…Answers.”

He lifts his beer in a silent toast to Gotham City and smiles widely.

Tue, 17 Jun 2008 22:51:29 GMT

Title: The Process of Belief
Fandom: Batman/OZ crossover
Characters/Pairings: Harvey Dent and Elphaba
Rating:PG for some language
Summary: A green woman and a legal man meet and talk about numerous things-among them the origin of species and the nature of belief.
Notes: Danii asked for Harvey/Elphaba. And I said-NO. eew. And then I got to thinking. Two incredibly cynical people both devoted to the causes of the little guy? Both outcasts

It’s pure curiosity and he hates himself for it. It has taken years of training both pushed upon him and applied by himself to control sudden urges. Human emotions, displays of emotion (except when the occasion called for it) Staring inappropriately.

It was nature to stare inappropriately. He consoled himself by telling him it was a natural human reaction to a potential threat. The threat was not in evidence, she was not wielding spikes or horns but she was green.

Green from head to foot save at the top of her head where black hair cascaded to shoulders where she sat hunched, nose in a massive leather-bound text.

“…Gee, that looks like a sleeping pill.”

Her eyes were green too, green and full of confusion, “…It’s nothing of the sort.” Though she checked the text just to make sure, muttering something about uneducated people under her breath.

He recovers his fumble quickly, “…What are you reading?”

“On the Origin of Species. It’s by some man named-“

“Charles Darwin.” He’d read it ages ago in a hapless effort to pass through High School. What little he’d managed to absorb when not staring out at the soccer field and Mary Bradshaw’s excellent backside ran back to him, “…The theory of evolution?”

“He makes several points.” The woman said, “My world has yet to discover.”

“Probably why it’s the source of such contention.” Harvey stares at the book with slight distaste, “The Evolution versus creationism theory.”

She folds elegant hands over the book, closing it, “I applaud a man who creates contention with fact rather then fiction. It takes real talent to illustrate the facts for someone versus showing them smoke…mirrors…magic tricks.”

Her eyes narrow as Harvey sits, “…Harvey Dent.”

She doesn’t take his outstretched hand. He is far too…normal. Almost absurdly so. Instead her mouth twitches, “…You’re a politician.”

Observant. “It shows?”

“You bear the excess of personality terminal to those in public office.” She said blankly, “Everything about you screams average. You ask others to trust you with just a glance, thinking they’ll fall under your sway. If we were from the same place you would be Gilkkin. Bred for looks and the political arena with little else to say and do but be a figurehead for some greater power. Go away, you are distracting me from my book.”
Hard won instinct and emotion gave way to confusion and anger. Like a spark of pain traveling up a dinosaur’s foot, Harvey sat back utterly stunned. Bred for looks and the political arena with little else to say and do but obey?

“Your world must be very backward.”

“Astute observation.” She turned another page, ignoring him.

Damn. He struggled for footing. He’d brought out his b-squad and the coach had called a time out.

“…I mean, not being aware of Darwin’s Origin of Species, coming to a place like this-“ he drew a hand around, “And struggling with those words…you know, I’m sure that if bar asked you could be provided with some sort of…” his voice trailed off, dripping slime, “Program. Hooked on Phonics is big in Gotham City School District.”

A grimace of annoyance, “ Wrongs that should have been righted decades ago might depend upon the discoveries in this book. I have little and less to occupy my time now, it would be good to have accomplished something in my life.”

He raised an eyebrow, “…Wrongs?”

There was very real anger in her eyes, “The parrot speaks every word his master hears. Wrongs. Have they evolved beyond them in your world? No wonder you say nothing and have nothing to say as a figurehead. How boring for you.”

“What we lack in wrong we make up for in advancement and understanding.” His words are curt, as hard as he can make them. It is the rarest of the rare for Harvey Dent to be outtalked by anyone-especially not green otherworldly women. Captain Kirk would be rolling over in his non-existent grave, “Small price to pay.”

An eyebrow rose, “You would sacrifice petty things like happiness and human feeling for understanding? For Reason?”

She sounded slightly interested now. Harvey Dent thought of his fanatical pursuit of justice and the lack of assistance he’d had, “…When the occasion arises.”

“I ask out of pure curiosity. What occasion would this be?”

“Tell me the wrong you’re trying to right.”

Her eyes roll to the side as she closes the book again, “Once upon a time a college student had a professor who believed in equality for all men and Animals. His radical views got him killed.”

“…Did they catch the person who did it?”
He knows that look. That’s what makes him sit up and take notice of this green woman. His attention riveted on her, on those deep eyes like the forest sprawling grounds of his mother’s estate, of Gotham University-

“…Justice was served.”

It was her turn to be surprised as he stared at her. She mentioned no court and spoke with an absolute certainty. No one spoke with that much certainty, no lawyer, no criminal, no family who had just seen the man who killed their loved ones put on the welfare of the state to be fed like an animal in the zoo…

“You killed the person who did it.”

It is not a question.

The Green woman lowers her gaze, moving the book to her lap before folding her hands over its cover and staring at him. In such a pose he sees something familiar, something that gives him paws.

“Those are the occasions that I am willing to set aside human emotion, human pity and human feeling for.” Harvey’s mind spirals back to the trial eating him alive and finds something cold and hard, circular, never-ending in his subconscious, “Justice and its pursuit.”

“A Legal Scholar. A man of the courts.” She snorted, “…I should have guessed by your unctuous scent, the slime dripping from your pores.”

He hesitates, “This is Chanel for Men. My Fiancée bought it for me.”

“She has terrible taste in cologne.”

He closed his eyes, “I did you the courtesy of introducing myself, the very least you could do is offer me a name.”

“You probably already know me.”

She pauses, “you do. I can see it in your face, in your eyes. They all know me and condemn me simply on sight by learning that I am. I have been condemned enough by a complete stranger. My name is my own-the more I give it out the less it is mine and I have lost far too much as it is. I will keep my name.”

“Look, back home-traditional conversation usually requires one person to call the other by name.”

She hesitates again, “…Elphaba.”

“Alright, stately figurehead with nothing to say or not-there is no way I’m going to be able to pronounce that.”

“Then perhaps we shouldn’t engage in conversation Mr. Dent.”

“Call me Harvey.”

“…Mr. Dent.” She rose, “It has been an experience meeting you. I wish you luck and commend you for understanding that in certain occasions setting aside emotion and feeling is the best way to proceed.”

When she swirled away he realized she was wearing combat boots. There was something beautiful about her, something distinctly familiar he couldn’t apparently put his finger on. He orders tea and doesn’t remember that it exists. By the time he picks it up the water is a murky green that leaves him swirling-lost in thought.
----------

Their second meeting is a little less acidic.

He’s outside in a suit and tie needing-needing to flee the world in all its incomes as he stares into the heavens. The world is impossibly green and blue, he could get used to colors like this. Nothing blurs, the world has blurred too much lately.

When a branch moves he jumps back as something black and green alights on the ground a few feet away.

She stares, “…Mr. Dent.”

“…El-“ He nods mutely, “El.”

“…That’s a new one.” She picks up her broom and catches him staring, “Never seen one of these before?”

“I have.”

“I didn’t think men like you did their own housework.”

That hits a little too close to home, “Yeah, when you’re a single parent raising an only son you can just direct the servants to do it with a smile and a “Please Franklin, be sure to take care of it before young Harvey comes home.”

Her expression sours, “I have offended you.” She spoke as if discussing the impossible day or dinner plans, “You think that you’re the only one who’s had a difficult childhood?”

“My childhood.” Harvey snaps, “Wasn’t difficult. It was my mother’s life that was difficult.”

“Do you truly believe that?”

There is a noise in his head. A sound on his back as he closes his eyes suddenly thrown. The memory is vivid, stark naked against his mind he sees her standing over him weeping and stealing angry glances at her only burden.

El’s expression has softened, “…It is a parent’s prerogative to make their child feel miserable about their existence.”

Harvey shakes it off; turning to her, “…Guess we’ve all got stories.”

“To be young is to be used.” El’s voice is bitter. She sits on the grass a few feet away and he finds himself moving to sit beside her, “To be told we are a burden, a curse upon the ones who brought us into the world. No man wants to acknowledge that he is not the last, that he is not the beginning and the end of the world. The cycle continues. We scream and beat our hands against our cage because in the end we are all pawns and we know it and we can’t stand it.”

“Pawns of who? Pawns of what?”

“The Universe.”

He snorted, putting a hand on the grass. She blended with it, one color against another like a haphazard child drawing, “…Thought you were going to say God for a minute.”

“I’m not a believer.” She shrugged, “In anything. I have no soul, there is nothing to tether me to anything in such a way.”

He looks at her, head tilting to the side, “…I feel sorry for you.”

“Do you have such a tether?”

He thinks of Rachel. He thinks of Gotham. He thinks of all the things he wanted to accomplish before he died and what he was willing to do, to set aside to get them.

She was watching him now-it gave him the shivers. The woman’s green eyes bore into his own and he thought for one minute he was back at the beginnings where people had to judge him.

He twitched.

“I pity you Harvey Dent. If any man has a tether it is only a matter of time before it becomes all he lives for. It pulls upon him, wrapping a rope tight around his neck and squeezing. The tighter you reach for it the more it pulls before it snaps and you are adrift with nothing.”

“You sound like you know somebody with that…ah…” He frowned, “Singular problem.”

“My father believed.”

“In what?”

“In that all people can be redeemed.”

“People can cross over.” He emphasizes the word can; “Going from good to evil, making that leap isn’t all that hard. Innocent until proven guilty is something we pride ourselves on.”

“One day Harvey Dent.” El rises, “The law will abandon you. It will abandon you at the end and ask you to choose. Will you accept what it offers? Or will you deny it and find your own path? Because tethers will pull you, and without a hand to take you from the water they can do little else.”

“The law will never abandon me.” He says stoutly, “…I’m the District Attorney. I am the law.”

“Then you are a tyrant and I have nothing to say to tyrants. Tyrants are figureheads spewing water from their mouths and I have nothing to do with water.”

It dawns on him then, who she is as she walks away half sashay half glide across the water. He didn’t picture her thus; he pictured her old, a spinster, and a thousand fears of childhood flitting across his face like insects…

“…How can you think that your father’s belief punished him?”

She turns and flies.

It’s nothing jerky; there are no wires and strings. He is in the presence of sorcery, of magic and this is enough to make him blink backing up several steps as she stares at him-the object hovering.

“…It sent him me.”

She jerked it off, riding it like a horse into the impossibly blue sky above as he closed his eyes and shook his head in wonder. Somehow, “I’m Melting” did not convey the philosophical thought that the Wicked Witch of the West apparently possessed.

----------

At the end he stands before her half in shadow as she stares at him with pity in those deep green pools.

“I did try to warn you.”

“You did.” Harvey Dent has difficulty speaking now. It hurts to talk too much, he’s still healing, “…But in a world so advanced as ours sometimes we set aside common sense in favor of reason and advancement.”

She laughed, the noise musical, as her eyes lowered, “I can’t fix you.”

“No.” Two Face Growls, “You can’t.”

“Where did the tether pull you?”

To wrong and right. Harvey thinks. His hands find the coin he has kept with him, running his fingers along the surface, I believed and was punished.

Seemingly having read his thoughts, she nods, “Never believe in anything.”

“Won’t make that fucking mistake again.” Two-Face says, “There are two. Law and Crime. Good and Evil. Nothing else.” No emotion, no love, no caring.

She stands, hand on her broom, “…I hoped you’d be the one to have a happy ending.”

“There are never happy endings.”

Harvey Dent weeps. He understands what she said when it hurt to cry, “…Not for anyone.”

“Knowledge that comes with a price.”

He disappears in the shadows of the booth. She takes off and flies, not coming down until the sun hits the horizon in an impossibly perfect day.

PepperONY fic: "The last real mystical experience of Tony Stark"

Tue, 17 Jun 2008 22:49:29 GMT

Title: The first and last mystical experience of Tony Stark
Fandom: Iron Man: Film.
Characters/Pairings: Jim Rhodes, Pepper Potts, and Tony Stark. Shades of Tony/Pepper.
Genre: …Introspection/Dream sequence.
Summary: The moments before Tony Stark wakes up to meet Yensin. “I’ve never had a psychic experience before.” You have now.
Notes: …I kept listening to Incubus’s “Megalomaniac” while writing this, which I think, inspired Tony’s attitude.

I really don’t know where the idea came from though. I’d love to hear your thoughts!

He dreams and in dreaming finds the answers that he does not want to admit when he is awake.

His decision was not a rash one, far from it. Every decision he makes is intense, every action is incredibly personal. He does not even realize it, for Tony Stark, captain of Industry and honest-to-god genius was always inhibited in that small factor. He never acted without conscious thought. It was his Zen, his only concession to the nature of the lives that monks and other men of the world lived. The slightest word was coolly calculated; the slightest plan was finished months in advance.

And this is how the universe rewards him for his attention to detail. This is how he is gifted, with death in desert sand blowing over his hair and in his mouth. Muscles aching and the most important muscle of all made of metal.

So he dreams and screams out to the heavens with a voice so very wearied why. Why when I did everything right, why when I was your chosen, you’re beloved, why have you forsaken me?

He thinks it is perhaps a hallucination; she is the last person he’d been thinking of. She comes to him in a business suit, Armani with her red hair cascading down her back.

The scene is so surreal he knows it has to be a dream, “…I didn’t expect you here.”

“You called.” She shrugged helplessly, “Mr. Stark. I kind of have to answer, that’s my job.”

He holds up his hands holding a car battery- (a car battery of all things!) “…Think you could call me an ambulance?”

“I think AmeriCare would charge quite a bit to pick you up in the middle of an insurgent campground.” Pepper’s smile is coy, “…I can arrange that however if you’d like…”

“No.” He lowers his hands and drops to the sand. It’s fibers run coarse through his fingers as he picks up a grain and sets it down again, “…No. Would go beyond the call of duty but no.”

“…The definition of beyond the call of duty varies between persons.” Pepper sat down beside him and he took a moment to realize that she wasn’t wearing one of her many pairs of shoes, “Love to some is considered above and beyond the call of duty, to trust so explicitly in a moment of great danger is sometimes more then anyone is capable of.”

“That.” She said, leaning back on her elbows, “Is why there is war. We are so unsettled, so afraid of what we could be stand in fear of other men. We hover in quiet out of the way places and brandish sticks at each other.” She drew out her fist and pantomimed shaking a weapon at some imaginary foe.

“…I’ve never asked you what you thought before.”

The wind plays with her hair, “What I think is inconsequential. Does the wind ask the trees what it thinks of how fast it blows? Does the ocean ask the land how it feels about it eroding away at it’s very self, at its core?”

That’s when he in his cynical way, his obsession with science, knows for sure, “You’re not her.”

Her gaze turns curious. She shifts her position to stare at him, “…Are you sure?”

“Pepper is never that…eloquent.”

“Have you ever asked her? Have you ever spent any time with her, with any of the other pieces you play with in your game?”

“What game am I playing?”

“You’re playing against the world. That’s-why you do what you do Tony Stark. You’ve got something to prove and you don’t feel like you’ve proven it yet and now…” Her fingers find his hand and he shivers in the heat, “…You feel like you won’t get the chance.”

“Who are you?”

“…Did it ever occur to you that that’s a very rude question to ask someone?”

“You’re not Pepper.”

“I’ll ask you again. How are you so sure that I’m not Pepper?” She smiles that cute little half smile that he’s starting to notice even here in his subconscious. There is a shift in the sand.

“Or that I’m not Rhodey?”

There he jerks, there he sits up to find his supposed best friend the liaison between one group and another staring at him with his attention riveted, “…Hey man!”

“Hey yourself.” Three they sit on the sand watching the wind play with grains that have been there since the beginning of the world, “What are you two arguing about now?”

“…This party with two people I’m never going to see again.” Tony raised his hands, “Sit back, I wish I had drinks but I’m afraid you’re gonna haveta buy, I left my wallet back in reality.”

“He thinks we’re not real.”
James Rhodes frowns, “…He what?”

“He thinks we’re illusions.”

He bristled as Pepper smirked, “I feel like I should be insulted.”

“You should be.” Tony pointed a hand at him, swooning, “I should be able to imagine a lot better companions then a comm. Jockey and a personal assistant.”

“I don’t have to take this crap.” Rhodey rises, “I get my ass all the way out of my supposedly metaphorical bed and come to sit with you in a desert of all places and you call me a comm. Jockey? Thanks man. Thanks a whole lot. Have fun escaping-on your own.”

“…Yeah go.” Tony waved a hand at him, “…Probably be better off, and you don’t want to loose if this is all really a game.”

“Game?” Rhodey shoots back, “This isn’t a game. You idiot, you really think you’re in control here?”

“Jim!”

Pepper’s voice is sharp as the pilot waves off, stalking away down the dunes and disappearing from sight. Tony looks up to find pepper standing over him, “So what, you’re leaving me too?”

She sighed, “Will there be anything else Mr. Stark?”

He tried to think of something else to say, “What exactly have you done already?”

She folded her hands in front of her and studied him with a careful expression. He blinks, a little unnerved.

“…This is a hallucination.”

She nodded once.

He was fitting the pieces together in a way that worked, “This is a hallucination that I created. You’re not really here.”

“You seem almost sad by that.”

“…I don’t understand it.” Stark set his hands down on his knees, pushing himself off the dune, nearly sliding, “…I’m not the mystical man type, I don’t get visions-I’ve never even had a psychic experience and…You’re here. And Rhodey is-well-he was here. What is it that you’re supposed to show me?”
She bites her lip and lowers her head and starts to walk.

Things that worked so well at one point break at times, they falter. They snap and loose pieces. There is little care, they become worn, and they loose power. Sometimes there is an accident.

Tony Stark feels his knees give first. He falls into the sand and can’t move; it’s thick and choking. It’s a C-Span brief, it’s a General congratulating him and placing another order, it’s goddamn public access television. All encompassing, foul smelling, much moving between his fingers and his toes eating him alive…

She turns halfway down the dune. With her red gold hair blowing back in the wind and the saddest smile on her face he reflects that she is possibly the most beautiful woman in the world, a goddess.

Leaving him. Abandoning him.

“Pepper!” its moving faster now, “No, Don’t leave me, don’t leave me here! Come back-“

The three stages of desperation:

Bargaining: Okay-Okay Pepper, if this is your way of asking for a raise…you’ve got it babe. I’m sorry-I’m sorry I said you weren’t real okay? I can’t tell you how sorry I am. Hey-you want a jet? I can get you a jet! I’ll build it myself…. Heh…Pepper-Pepper please…Virginia…

Anger. “Goddamnit you stupid bitch! You get back here now! I mean it! Your ass is so fired; you’ll never find a job again! I will make it my life’s work to take everything that you care about and destroy it! Do you hear me! Pepper! Turn around when I’m talking to you! -“

Horror. What, you’re leaving me? Nobody-nobody should leave anybody else…Please…I don’t-I don’t want to be alone. I’ve never-My dad-My dad left me alone…My mom did too-they thought I could take care of myself I-I- please Pepper, I didn’t…I didn’t mean…No, Don’t leave me here like this! Please!

His scream echoes across the desert and is lost in the howling of the winds.
------------

He comes to with something soft and warm looking at him.

Framed in gold she looks like a goddess, an angel. Her smile is the best thing he’s ever seen, the desperation in his chest is gone. The ache of his destroyed heart has vanished.

“Hey Man!” The face disappears and he sees another, someone more familiar, “…You stupid sonnuvabitch-one of these days you’re going to get me killed.”

Rhodey smiles in understanding, “I’m gonna let the lady explain. See you soon Tony. See you soon.”

By the time they are alone Pepper folds her arms across her front and sits back to study him intently, “…I doubt that there’s a lot you are going to take from that.”

Hardly. For the first time in his life he felt real fear. He felt real desperation and loneliness, “…Why is this happening to me?”

“…In time you’ll see.” And for the first time she does not sound like his assistant, she sounds like something else entirely. She sounds like a thousand talking voices, a cheering crowd. She sounds like cameras, which makes him, blink, tilting his head to the side to look at her, “…In time you’ll see.”

“…So this is the part where I wake up in a hospital?”

The lie was comforting.

“…This is the part where you wake up and you do something about your situation Mr. Stark.” She rose, “…Just lay back and count to five.”

“Stay with me.”

She kneels again, ever obedient, a student of service if he’d ever seen one. The obscure reference crosses his mind and he shakes it off.

One.

“So what, you were supposed to shock me?”

“Here’s hoping it did.” Pepper said, “Because as an extension of your subconscious I doubt that I’d serve any purpose if I didn’t play Jiminy Cricket from time to time.”

Two.

“Showing me that I shouldn’t be so callous, so uncaring…”

“…Ideally.”

“You know, they say that Genius marches to the beat of a different drummer entirely. Our lapses are usually forgiven.”

“Not in this case.”

“Bitch.”

Three.

“Smartass Prick.”

“…So what happens when I wake up?”

“The learning begins. This is step one. Steps two through twelve are ones that you’re going to have to follow. You complained about being bored, well and good, let it not be said that the universe doesn’t listen.”

“So God has something to do with this? What’s the big guy look like?”

Four.

“He’s a short eighty-six year old looking man with glasses who says “Excelsior!” A lot.”

“He sounds like Stan Lee.”

“Only you and Deadpool, Tony Stark, would be allowed to break the fourth wall like that.”

“So before I go Pepper.” Tony blinks, her image fading, “Let me ask you something. Rhodey I get, but what are you doing here?”

He continues to talk as the years give way to months, to days, hours, minutes and seconds.

“Is it because you’re the ultimate voice of good in my life? Is it because out of everyone you’re the only one who tells me what I need to hear, who listens to what I have to say and who considers me redeemable? Is it because-Because-”?

A feeling stirs.

“…Because I think that maybe in some other life, some other place and other consciousness I could have it in me to love you?”

Her mouth opens, her hand moves toward his face and…

Five.

“Damn it.”

“Ah good, you’re awake.” Reality is hard, brown and hard and screaming as a wizened figure washes his hands in a dirty and dried sink, “…I was beginning to get worried.”
-------------

Weeks later, days later, Tony Stark is sitting on his couch in his room and remembering how much he likes having people leap to obey him. He remembers how much he enjoys soft fabric and comforting climate-controlled buildings. He remembers how much he enjoys ground-solid man-made pavement versus the dirt, the earth and the sand shifting beneath his feet.

“…Mr. Stark? I have a Dr. Pepper for you…” pepper nods mutely. Hers was the first face he saw off the plane, coming out of nowhere-a figure amid a windy and dry desert…

He smiles, “…You are. A lifesaver.”

They’d made headlines today. But no action of Tony Stark has ever been more thought out. And for once he’d had help, beyond his massive intellectual capacity, “…It’s in the job description.”

I could call AmeriCare but I think the price might be a little steep…

He laughs, a sharp noise. She backs up a step, “…Can I do anything else?”

Tony opens his mouth and closes it again before shaking his head. She leaves, heels clacking as she moves to the door before putting her hand on the edge and turning to face him, expression curious.

“…What happened?”

The learning began. How to be spontaneous, how to be fixed from the broken thing that he had been.

“Something…Mystical.”

It’s mumbled so low that she can’t hear as he looks up, staring her pointedly in the face, “I was held captive by a group of militants who like to use my toys as battering rams to get what they want in the biggest fucking sandbox that humanity’s ever seen. Why?”

She shakes her head, smiling ruefully, “…Anything else Mr. Stark?”

Answer the question that I asked you, framed in the sun like a goddess in red and gold. You left me, you abandoned me, and you came back. Nobody who’s ever abandoned me has come back.

No. She couldn’t. In his mind’s eye he saw his consciousness shake her head. He would have to find the answer on his own in time.
“…That will be all Miss potts.”

He closed his eyes and drank the liquid; it was cool and refreshing, spontaneity in action, a first test and a good one.

PepperONY fic: "Kitchen Sinks"

Tue, 17 Jun 2008 22:47:26 GMT

Title: Iron Man vs. The Kitchen Sink
Fandom: Iron Man Movieverse
Characters/Pairings: Pepper Potts, Tony Stark, and Pepper/Tony
Genre: Amusing one-shot.
Rating: PG for a sexual innuendo.
Summary: Iron man versus his toughest challenge! The kitchen sink! With trusty pepper potts his sidekick to…help!
Notes: …We had a leak in our air conditioner and this one (on several different levels in several different fandom) kind of wrote itself

Pepper Potts had faced down rampaging giant robots. She had seen normal human men become gigantic monsters only to be shackled by the very government that created them. Hell, she’d seen a man try to take off a robotic suit with the help of a massive machine. She should (should, the key word here was should) have realized that there were still things that could surprise her.

“You know, instead of making snide remarks, you could help me.”

Tony Stark.

Tony Stark, Ironman, Tony stark, her erstwhile employer, Tony Stark the man who occasionally vied for her affections when the mood suited him was completely oblivious to anything like-Armani or Five hundred dollar suit, or You have two inches of water on your kitchen floor you should call a plumber.

“…Tony-where was Stark Industry Stock?”

“…Up three points today.” He grunted, “…Pepper-hand me the wrench-Pepper-PEPPER-“

She walked forward-delicately-picking up the wrench and nearly dropping it into his outstretched hand, “…I’m gonna ask you again-“

“I have a feeling I know what you’re about to ask.” He grunted, “…And yes, this haircut is new. I had it done all by myself, aren’t you proud?”

“Ecstatic.” She sort of was, but now wasn’t the time to call attention to that, “…Tony, up three points is a good sign. We’re doing great, your family fortunes are intact. Here in your castle-“ she spread her hands wide, “You are in fact secure.”

Another grunt, another twist, “…And?”

“…And…”

There was a gurgling noise from the kitchen, “…And why the HELL are you trying your own home repair?” She glared upward, “…Jarvis! -“

The AI’s voice was curt, “Ma’am.”

“…Didn’t you call a plumber?”

“Three ma’am. But…ah…”

“Those guys.” Tony pulled himself out from under the sink and shook his head-doglike. Water sprayed in all directions, “Are parasites. I have a degree in mechanical engineering.”
He picked a wonderful time for an act of snobbery, “…At any time Tony, did you stop and think of the workshop down below?”

“I have that covered ma’am.” Jarvis’s voice was crisp, “We’ve got everything under tarps but with my calculations-“

“Why the hell didn’t you actually call the plumber?”

For the first time in her career, Pepper Potts heard Jarvis sound apologetic, almost sad, “…There is an adage that the marines use. “Ours is not to Question why…”

“Ours is but to listen to your CREATOR-“ Tony waved a wrench around to make his point before sliding back under the sink, “And not call the plumber.”

He paused, “…Hell, my dad didn’t let anybody handle his home repair. Nope. He passed on his sacred knowledge to me-his living heir and I apply it and-“

There was a jet of something. Pepper gasped, hiding a smile as Tony coughed and sputtered. He came away quickly; the occasional drip now a fountain in the piping and advanced hardware.

“…So when was the last time that you applied said sacred knowledge?”

Tony shot her a dirty look, “…It’s just a kitchen sink. I can do this.” His face set into a determined look, the same gaze he wore when going out to battle insurgents. She shook her head, mentally comparing the five rings organization to a leaking kitchen sink put on earth to vex Tony Stark-

“JESUS-“

The earth opened and the fountain sprouted. There was a hiss as a jet of water hit the table, “DUCK! -“

Pepper did as she was required, “…PLUMBERS-“

“Hey, I WENT TO MIT OKAY?” The noise of the rushing water was muffling them both, “I think I can fix a goddamn sink! -“

“So what, that advanced plumbing was in between your course on robotics or computer programming?”

Tony stared at her, wiping liquid from his face, “…What?”

“I said, WHEN DID YOU TAKE THAT-“

“Sir, I must advice you that probability that the leak will spread to other areas of the building is building from the initially calculated-“

“JARVIS.”

Tony and Pepper’s voices joined as one, “SHUT. UP.”

Tony moved forward, leaping back, “…It’s no use. The pressure’s too high. I’ve got to go shut it off.” He rose before slipping back to fall on his rear end.

Pepper laughed. She couldn’t help it. She took a tentative step towards the exit of the kitchen and spilled flat, her skirt instantly drenched. Their gazes met as both burst out laughing.

Like a blessed event, the water lowered. The pressure dropped and the two-standing inches from each other sopping wet glanced upward.

Tony spoke first, “…Jarvis?”

“Sir.”

“…What happened?”

“I shut off the water power sir.”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Pepper asked, “…You scared the hell out of us both.”

This time, she was almost certain there was a very real sarcastic undertone, “…I was under strict orders to be quiet. Mine is not to question why, mine is but to-“

“Thank you Jarvis.” Tony held up his hands, shaking water off them, “Why don’t you dial the plumber? And uh…Stanley Steamer. Tell um I’ll pay double to get um out here today.”

“Very good sir.”

There was a bleep and a bing as Pepper stared at him.

His gaze was solid, his voice firm, “…Thinking you might not have wanted to wear white today.”

Her mouth opened. She covered her chest, rising up from the floor, “ Instead of making snide remarks you could get me a shirt.”

“I’d offer you mine, but mine’s…kind of drenched.” Tony held up his hands, “…You know where I keep my clothes though.”
She wrapped her arms around her front stalking out of the kitchen. The carpet squished beneath her toes, sopping wet.

“Your dad really did all his own home repair?”

They sat on the couch as the carpet crews and the plumbers went to work, trading glances at the two of them as Tony laughed, “Pretty much.”

“How’d it turn out?”

“…He usually only got the kitchen wet. Clearly a better man then I.”

She laughed aloud before putting a hand over her mouth and staring at him nervously. He shook his head, grinning, “…Clearly there is a lesson here.”

“Just because you went to MIT doesn’t mean that you’re some kind of god of engineering?”

“…Nope.”

Tony nodded at her, a gleam in his eye, “Means I might have to take a class or something. Read a book on this.”

She sighed, rolling her eyes and looking away. The one thing that never stopped, never changed, never ceased to surprise her. Tony Stark-staying the same.

batfic_contest Winnar!

Thu, 12 Jun 2008 22:39:48 GMT

Title: Durham Rule
Fandom: Batman/Nolanverse
Characters/Pairings: Harvey Dent. With guest appearances by DA Eckhart (Ahaha, I love my Meta) and Judge Nolan ( See? Meta!)
Challenge: Killer or Hero?
Wordcount: 2910
Universe: ...That's tough. I'm going to go with Nolanverse because I suck like that, but there are definite elements of Long Halloween Continuity.
Rating: PG-13 for language.
Summary: The ultimate sentence for Harvey Dent, former District Attorney turned Criminal who-like most lawyers, chose to represent himself.
Notes: Okay. I bought a copy of Barrow’s legal Dictionary (most recent addition) best not to ask why, but it did provide some handy-dandy reference material for this. Just so you know:

Durham Rule- is defined as “A test of criminal responsibility, adopted by the District of Columbia Court of appeals in 1954.” Which states that “an accused is not criminally responsible if is unlawful act was the product of mental disease or mental defect”

Ignorita Legis Non excusat- Is basically defined as “Ignorance of the Law is not an excuse”. In short, if you don’t KNOW that a traffic light means STOP and you DON’T STOP that means that you can still be prosecuted fori t.

If y’know, any of y’all are legal scholars or law students feel free to correct me.

Caught and prosecuted, the creature that was Harvey Dent regards his defense attorney with his bad eye. He has nothing but contempt for this sheep, this fool, and this weakling whose only goal seems to be to sit and appear ready to soil himself at his appearance. Once he would have chided him gently, sharing his expertise and genius.

Now he felt only contempt.

“-We should-“ He’d been babbling those two words for the better part of a half an hour. Should, should, should do what?

He contemplating strangling the boy, only because he was so damn tired. Anything to get him to shut the fuck up. He reached a hand up to message his temple, trying in vain to think of something to do-some course of action-

There was nothing. Nothing since Maroni and his acid. Nothing since the incredible pain, the extreme separation and the knowledge that ultimately Justice was his to hand out, his to use to persecute…

No, No the word was prosecute. His to prosecute. He was a district attorney (wasn’t he?) An officer of the governmental body under which he or she is operating, such as a state, county, or municipality, with the duty ot prosecute all those accused of crimes.

Is that really what you think?

The statement was contradictory. The very words were mistakes. How could the man who was supposed to accomplish this be a criminal? Who would prosecute the watchmen?

You’re such a fucking tool Dent.

His eyes close as the public defender sitting across from him starts rifling through papers again, apparently trying to make notes. His former superior must have disgusted him-hell, he disgusted himself…

This is no different then what we were before you stupid fuck.

What we were before, Harvey Dent thinks ruefully, is a man with an amusing tic. Flipping coins was something funny, it was not supposed to decide life and death. He was paralyzed now, like the kid caught eating too much candy.

The ability to see both sides of an issue was something of use to an officer of the court. It made him a sympathetic prosecutor until he had become consumed by…

By what? The truth?

His other half (his better half, thank you very much) stood smiling at him in the recesses of his mind. Free, finally out and ousted, he reveled in the world around him and felt nothing but contempt for the man from which he’d been born.

For the first time in his life, Harvey Dent realized that seeing both sides of the issue wasn’t the same as understanding them, and that feeling pity for the condemned was not the same as sympathy. There could be no law without the human element, something he had inexplicably lost long before his supposed death at the hands of that twice-damned mob boss.

“…Do you have a quarter?”

The Public Defender stares at him aghast. That coin was evidence in a murder trial, he’d been specifically ordered to keep all coins away from the man looking at him-half in shadow and half out. Harvey had moved to keep the man from staring; it was…not pleasant to say the least.

“…I-“

“It’s a simple question.” Two-Face rasped, “One you can’t turn around, can’t confuse with your legal Jargon you stupid little shit. Do you have a fucking coin or not?”

Instinct compels the public defender to flinch. He’d read somewhere (or been taught somewhere) that all power derives from you. There is only power and fear, and the more power you lend to people the more likely it is that you’ll fear them, respect them, obey them. He stared at the former District Attorney, a man he’d respected and admired- dedicated, devoted.

War torn, ruined by the very city he’d sworn to protect.

The two regarded each other quietly before, seemingly coming to a decision; he pulled out a coin from his pocket, “…Mr. Dent.”

Harvey found a surge of compassion, the strength of which he hadn’t felt since he first began to practice. Two-Face chuckled.

Fuckin’ Tool.

He’s a good kid. Harvey put a hand on the paper, feeling the familiar round object beneath his fingertips. He pitied the poor guy-if he didn’t loose his job over this the way things were going…Harvey might kill him himself.

Now there’s an idea.

Imagine the impatience, the frustration, and the anger. To be unable to come to a conclusion, to be unable to function in the most basic of means. Frozen, Harvey stared down at the coin as Two-Face’s uproarious laughter echoed in his head.

…G’wan now Harv. Heads…

Heads we help the kid.

And Tails…

Harvey recoiled. The things that men were capable of, responsible for. The irony wasn’t lost on him. How often had he wondered what the people he was prosecuting would do to him if he were alone?

The scariest part was the knowledge, the cold firm realization in his gut that if that coin hit tails he could move-quick as a flash-and stab this measly fucking pencil pusher in the neck.

And how sweet would that be? Two Face smiled, Could it be that you’re going to enjoy this? Coming up with that’s rather creative-did you fantasize about that Harvey?

No…

He wanted to warn the man as he flipped the coin in the air.

Warn him. G’wan. Ask him how much he’s lost on a coin toss. Ask him how he thinks he’ll talk when his windpipe is severed. Ask him about that wedding ring. Will his bride miss him when we cut his throat? Ask him what he thinks of this system, this system that allows men who were doing the best that they could to be punished for doing what should have been done when men like Maroni walk free. Ask him how it feels to have a man he respects be labeled a killer so quickly as his blood spills across the-

The sound of metal hitting flesh makes the Defender Jump.

…Aww shit.

Harvey finds himself grinning. It must look revolting. It hurts like hell too, pulling in places it shouldn’t. This started with a clown, someone who makes people smile. It seems only fitting that it end with him not knowing happiness ever again. The symmetry is pleasant…

To say the least.

“…I’m relieving you as council.”

The Public Defender sits up straight, “…Mr. Dent?”

“…I’m firing you. I’m representing myself. As your last act you can request a gag order from Judge Nolan. Tell him I’ll meet with whatever experts he wants to see me for my…” His mouth twists, “713.”
“Mr. Dent…” there a dozen and one reasons why this is a bad idea. They run through his head on quiet feet before he stands. The former District Attorney’s eyes are full of sadness, “…As my last act as your council…I want to say that-“

He licks his lips, “It was a pleasure working for you.” Pause, “With you, helping you. Whatever happens…I’m sorry.”

Sorry?

Harvey’s hands find the pen.

Sorry that what? You and all the little ants took everything that I offered, everything that I was willing to give? Sorry that you climbed into my kitchen, ate my food and left me nothing but disease spread out like sores across this face? I had everything you stupid fuck, and you people took it way because of this antiquated notion of Justice! You made me into what I am, a Hero labeled a killer because none of you had the stones to do what needed to be done! Where is the justice in that!

The very rule of law is to find a balance. Harvey knows that, but he's hurting too much to acknowledge it. One for one, an eye for an eye, the scales are even It's so unfair. For the thousands of men that Maroni and his goons had killed one life, one good life would have to be sacrificed for tipping the scales in the favor of good.

Damn it.

Harvey’s voice is paper thin as his throat works. He ignores the screaming in his head, every emotion he repressed, he tried to bury down deep. His complete and utter hatred for the people he’d sworn to protect.

“…I think you should go and do what I asked. Please.”

The light goes off by the time that he leaves. Harvey curls up atop the man’s legal files in the darkness willing him not to think.

You who have such faith.

Two-Face stares down at him in contempt.

Don’t you see that I’m trying to save you Harvey? Heroes are like Kleenex, they use them to wipe away the snot and pus of the world before throwing them away in favor of a clean one-white and strong.

Harvey doesn’t say a word. His hand moves.

There’s only one in the end. One side. One motivation. You can’t do good so damn those who get in your way. We can kill them all. We can kill them all and make them pay-vengeance for you and truth for me. There’s only one law, no books, no professors, no clean white men in clean robes. No blind woman. You know why she’s blind? Because she closes her eyes to the truth. Only one law, Kill or be killed. Eat or be eaten.

He ignores him. The paper’s half filled. Talking to yourself is a sign of insanity after all.

---------

“Mr. Dent, I can honestly say that I…am hesitant to agree to this.”

Judge Nolan is unimpressive. Harvey has never argued before him before. He’s never even met the man. Ironic. He allows himself a moment to wonder what he’d talk to him about if circumstances were different. Would they meet for golf? Discuss his DAs? Discuss the family he’d never have?

“Were it not for Mr. Sale’s plea on your behalf I wouldn’t agree to it at all. You’re guilty of the murders of at least three people-these are capitol crimes.”

“Yes your honor.”

“…As it is, after declaring you fit to stand trial and assist in your own defense this court has agreed to hear your argument. You’ve heard what Mr. Eckhart has had to say…”

Harvey knew Eckhart only briefly. He’d been hired on shortly after his election and he’d been unable to actually meet the man. Their gazes met before his former subordinate turns away. Got the eye for human weakness, not the stomach. He thinks You’ll never make it in this town.

Poor bastard.

This is the part where I’m supposed to sit down and shut up right? Two-Face had watched the spectacle begrudgingly. Going to have to do a hell of alot more then that to keep me down Harv-keep us down...

Harvey ignores him. They flipped on it. It takes every ounce of control he has, every muscle in his body to remain perfectly still-

And speak.

“Law, your honor, is defined as the legislative pronouncement of the rules which should guide one’s actions in society; “The aggregate of those rules and principals of conduct decided by the legislative authority or established by local custom. Our laws are derived from a combination of the divine or moral laws, the laws of nature, and the laws of human experience.

I, as a former officer of this court swore to protect and defend these laws-created by the human experience over generations. Handed down by god, put into word by man, and made a code to live by, I was placed in a position of power to-as the saying goes “watch the watchmen”. It is a position many men would envy and I used it to my advantage both as a political tool and as a function of my position. I submit to you your honor, along with the people gathered here today, that I failed in my sacred trust-long before the accident that has left me disfigured and labeled the criminal…”

He hesitated here, his alter ego smirking at him, fingers writhing in his subconscious, “…Two-Face”

“Legal duty, law itself, is about the search for truth. I lied and I schemed to accomplish what I thought was for the good…and when I saw the true evil of Gotham I erred in judgment. Judgment crippled by debilitating incidents that I neglected to share with the populace at large for my own welfare and sanity."

They flinch. Like it or not his past is on the record, they know the kind of man his father was. They do the best they can to not look away, to hide the pity and revulsion in their eyes. Is there any creature more unfortunate on earth then an unloved child? It's no wonder most of them choose to be killers, their heroes are nothing to speak of.

I refuse to make excuses. In the end, I am responsible for my actions. I killed three people because I felt that the deserved to die for their crimes against…against me and against the people of Gotham that I had sworn to protect.

My record, your honor, speaks for itself. I am-“ his voice broke, “I was the youngest district Attorney to take the bench in Gotham City. I have argued numerous cases before numerous judges. I will not say that I am infallible, my current state proves that I am mortal like all men, but I ask that in your decision you take into account that someone of my stature, my recognized legal expertise. The concept of Ignorita Legis Non excusat applies. I knew that I was responsible for what I was doing-that to take a human life-no matter who it was-was inexcusable.

People once called me a Hero, a Savior. Yet here I stand, accused and defamed as a Killer throughout Gotham City. The question of what I am has yet to be determined, but I ask that my record be concerned, my work with Gotham city surely shows that I am not beyond redemption. A man who accomplished all of the things I did and have yet to do surely deserves the benefit of the doubt. You are faced with a decision tonight, is Gotham City’s district attorney, the man the media once proclaimed the “White Knight” of Gotham, A killer or a Hero? Did he do the right thing, killing three self-declared Mob Family members-“

His chest heaved, “…Or did he take the lives of three people who did not deserve it?”

“…I submit your Honor that the only reasonable action in a case of this magnitude, a case where justice for three men and the life of a fourth hang on a figure who-“ he managed a bark of laughter, “…Who has difficulty making a decision such as myself hangs on your opinion. The facts of the case are these. I am…I am unwell. I accept that. I admit that I am and I-with this court’s blessing am willing to heal. I stand before you with what I see as the only reasonable legal recourse. I am a man who is a Hero and a villain, a killer who thought honestly that he was doing the right thing when by all rights I should have known that what I was doing was wrong. There cannot be anything mentally sound in my judgment. Let me heal, let me take responsibility for my crimes and let me find out this answer-Hero or Killer, monster or man, for myself.”

Almost complete. Now for the final thrust, the killing blow, “…These laws, these rules that we have built upon human experience are subject to change to meet the evils of the world. I do not think that History will vindicate me, but it has the right to see my case through to the end. Let me heal your honor so that I may face up to whatever the law will have to say to a whole man…not a half of one.”

Two Face’s “Two halves” comment goes unnoticed as Harvey sits, weary. The police tighten their grip on their guns as Judge Nolan leans back in his chair staring-unflinchingly-at the District Attorney’s ruined face.

“…I’d heard you were good. I didn’t know you were that long winded.”

He smiles. His fingers reach for a pen on the desk, “…I’ll be short. Mr. Dent, your record with Gotham hasn’t gone unnoticed. Nor has the…circumstances of your condition.”

He nodded mutely, “temporary or not, it is clear to me that Durham’s Rule applies very clearly in your case. Does the District Attorney want to add anything to that?”

Two-Face snorts as Harvey starts to rise, his good side’s mouth opened wide. Across the aisle, Eckhart shakes his head, “no your honor. The People will abide by the decision of this court.”

“…Then, Harvey Dent I sentence you to a term in Gotham City’s Arkham Asylum until you are deemed fit to re-enter society or can be prosecuted for your crimes against the people of this city.”

The Gavel goes down, “…one of the most Elegant arguments for temporary insanity I’ve ever heard. For what it’s worth Mr. Dent…”

The Bailffs stop escorting him as the Judge rubs at one of his eyes.

“…There are two sides to everyone. It’s possible to be both a killer and a hero. The question is which you are the most-which side you reveal to the public. I am erring on the side that the legal scholar-the man I moved to this city to work with will prevail.”

Two-Face has been far too patient, “…You’re gonna have a long fuckin’ wait for that partner.”

Nolan’s eyes are full of sadness, “…It’s a wait I will be willing to endure. It’s not as simple as a Killer and a Hero. It’s good versus Evil in the most basic sense, and evil cannot win forever, we have to hold onto that Mr. Dent. Otherwise it is no good to ask us to wait, because we wait in vain.”

The prattling in his head is ignored as Harvey manages a grateful smile, “…Thank you, your honor.”

You’re a fool of epic proportions.

He resists only slightly as they escort him out.

PepperONY Fic: "Radio Shack"

Thu, 12 Jun 2008 18:16:13 GMT

Title: Radio Shack
Fandom: Iron Man
Characters/Pairing: Tony/Pepper, mentions of Howard Stark
Rating: G for Fluffy.
Summary: Pepper Potts had a damn good reason for forgetting Tony Stark’s Birthday but she (apparently) more then makes up for it and earns a big reward.
Notes: …this started out as a father’s day piece and regenerated into a Pepper/Tony piece. No, I don’t know where it came from, yes, it’s probably out of character but it was DAMN cute in my brainmeats.

Pepper Potts had a valid reason.

She kept reminding herself of this. A valid reason was having your employer committed, a death in the family, some major crisis. And if she were to be honest with herself against overwhelming odds-having your employer declare that he fought crime in his spare time as a masked superhero called “Iron Man”….

Counted as an incredibly valid reason.

And she remembered! She remembered halfway through her morning routine. It’s Tony’s prerogative to forget important dates, not mine.

And while he might not have remembered that it was his birthday she owed it to him to do something.

Some small token of remembrance, some small “Hey, glad you’re still here because I-I-“

“I” was a feeling that she couldn’t afford to get into, not with the clock running down. Her car found the way to the shopping mall all by itself-catching the clerk just as he was putting the closed sign up on the window. Tony Stark considered electronics a vital part of his existence, he could easily afford whatever he wanted from a place like this, but…

“That’ll be 100.00 even.” The clerk smiled a knowing smile made worse by the apparent lack of sleep under his eyes, “You forget something important?”

“No.” She paid and left. She hadn’t forgotten, not in truth. She had a damn valid reason for putting it on the back burner, and in the end that made all the difference.
------------

“Happy Birthday Mr. Stark.”

“…Christ are you kidding?” In between business meetings Tony could usually be found in his personal lab at Stark industries. Pepper was doing her best to tune out the heavy metal and pray that the investors outside didn’t hear the strains of some godforsaken band she’d never heard of.

“Mr. Stark-“

“…Time moves according to all things.” He tightened another screw, “…Guess it had to happen. Hey thanks-“ he pointed the wrench at her in place of a finger, “For reminding me. Fuck, I remembered it was Father’s day, but my birthday?”

“Mr. Stark!”

“…I mean I suppose I should have seen that coming. What do they say? The mind is the first thing to go. Not entirely sure how I feel about that statement, but-“

“TONY.”

That threw him. He turned down the music, attention suddenly riveted on her. She never called him by his first name. It’s like I’m his mother rather then his personal assistant.

Whatever kind of woman Mrs. Stark was, she deserved to be sainted.

“…Happy Birthday.”

She thrust the card at him, wrapped in a cheap piece of tissue paper. He stared at it surprised before dropping the wrench and blinking at her.

“You didn’t have to get me anything.”

That statement held a lot more meaning then she was willing to apply at the moment. Her eyes closed, “…Call it a small reminder of how…grateful we are to have the Iron man in our lives.”

His look turned sharp as he opened the tissue. Radio Shack gift cards were surprisingly unremarkable, cardboard, paper and plastic.

“It’s chump change I know, but getting a card kind of seemed…out of place since I doubt you read any of the cards I or anyone else give you…”

Tony Stark was staring at the object in his hands as if he’d never seen one before, completely oblivious to her prattle.

“…So you could regift it or use it to buy something but I sort of figured y’know, commemorate-because birthday should always be celebrated…”

He set the object carefully on the desk, staring at the disarray and clutter around him.

“…Because you always celebrate my birthday-“ Never mind that it was complete and utter fiction and she did it for him, buying things for herself that she signed his name to. Somehow something bothered her-having him forget important dates. That was another feeling she wasn’t going to touch with a ten-foot pole…but that was beside the point.

“So anyway, it’s small and probably pointless but if you want to give it back I can give it to one of those guys-“

She made to grab for the card on the table before he snatched it back.

“You like it? I mean I didn’t know and I figured radio shack because that’s where all the guys go to buy stuff and-“

“Pepper. Shut up for a second.”

She blinked.

“…I was only-“

“…Do you know what my dad used to say?” Tony pointed at a picture on the wall, “He said the only things worth doing are worth doing with your hands. Spend too much time trusting to machinery and you forget what building is.”

He stared at her, expression unreadable, “…You know about the Cobalt array right?”

The Cobalt array was one of the first onboard GPS systems for military vehicles. Howard Stark had designed it.

Pepper nodded, “Your father’s work?”

Cue a rueful smile from the world’s most eligible electronic-loving bachelor, “…Holding a patent in the name of a six year old would look kind of silly don’t you think?”

Genius in it’s many forms, a practical application that Howard Stark had apparently seen. Pepper watched her boss pick up her gift, hands tracing the edges, “…Can’t tell you how mad I was. “I spent all my money and you’re the one making the millions of dollars on it. I was trying to build you a father’s day present and he said…”

“Tony, now you’re giving something to all the fathers all around the world. You’re keeping them safe, you’re sending them home or their sons home in one piece.”

Pepper ran a hand over her eyes instinctively, “…You spent all your money building a predecessor to the GPS?”

“…Well, I wanted to build a gun but I didn’t have the least idea as to how to accomplish that.”

He smirked at her before putting the card down, “…Eight weeks allowance at Radio Shack. My dad and I went there all the time to buy electronic parts. Caused the biggest stirs-Howard Stark slumming it with his son by his side.”

He held up the card, “…So this is coming full circle in a way.”

“. I bet you made more then a hundred dollars a week.”

“Oh yeah, well actually a lot less but I was able to supplement my income in other ways.” He offered her a wolfish grin, “Businessman before I could even walk.”

“I’m glad it meant something to you.”
“…Not many women could remind a man of both his birthday and how much he cared about his father in one fell swoop Ms. Potts. It takes a unique individual to accomplish that.”

“…What would you do without me?” It was the only remark she could think of, suddenly aware of how hot it was in the room, how intense his gaze was on her.

“Be less then what I am and have less then millions of other men with remarkable women in their lives.”

She felt the blush rise to her cheeks as she pointed at the room with the investors, stifling a cough, “…The uh-the Togokahns are here.”

He rose, straightening his tie, “Time to go make nice?”

“I have flashcards in your pocket with correct phrases but they all speak English.”

“…Thank you Ms. Potts.” He moved past her without another word after grabbing the gift card and putting it in his pockets, “That will be all.”

He didn’t look back.
--------

Time moves in its seasons and the world continues on the course it has charted for generations. Pepper’s birthday passed and selected something appropriate from her employer to mark the occasion and assuage the voice in her head screaming at him to take notice for once in his life.

“…And I’ll make sure to inform MIT that you’ll be on hand to deliver the speech yourself-“ she made a note on her blackberry, “And that covers it for the day.”

“Beautiful. And I’ve got the benefit tonight?”

She nodded, “You’re taking Lucy Young, she knows to be out of her house by six and you have reservations at the sky room at seven o’clock the actual event…starts at nine.” She made another note, “Have a pleasant evening Mr. Stark.”

She was halfway out the door when he held out a hand, “Wait.”

No more awkward moments, no more subtle hints as to what he wanted. Some part of her started screaming again, waving her hands. She could go to the benefit, she could stand beside him, and she could fufill all the duties of Lucy Young tonight-

No. Never. Not in a million years.

“Wait-wait wait-“

“…Tony?”

He was digging through a big box of something, “I had it a minute ago.”

“…To the left sir.” One of the robots on the side picked up something small and metallic-handing it to him.

“…Did you move that?”

The Robot chirped. Pepper suppressed an amused expression as he shook his head before looking to her, “I swear they move things around at night.”

“They’re playful like that.” She loved them for it, it was like having a pet that you didn’t have to clean or wash up after.

Stark had something in his hands, small and metallic, “…I think I was going to give this to you earlier, now seems like as good a time as any.”

He thrust the object at her, as pleased as a child who’d found a shell or a crap or a string of jellyfish at the beach. Pepper stared at him, eyes wide, and hands out-

It was a dog. A reasonably well crafted dog. She had no doubt he’d built it himself. Its hindquarters were metal and silver; it’s eyes bright and very lifelike. She held a replica of an actual beagle in her hands, miniaturized.

It regarded her quietly, her mouth dropping open.

“…It does tricks too. Sit, stay-HEY. Underdog.”

The beagle blinked at them both.

“…Put him down.”

She nearly stumbled as she did so; Tony snapped his fingers, “Sit.”

The metallic dog sat without so much as a grind of gears or a hiss of motor. Tony snapped his fingers again, “Down, lay down-“

Pepper’s mouth closed, “Today’s my birthday.”

Tony Stark jerked as if struck, “…S’also a red letter day on the calendar with me remembering a date apparently. Well there you go then.”

He gestured to the robot dog, “Happy birthday.”

She reached down to pick the creature up, “…In addition to what you already got me for my birthday.”

“I’m a generous guy.” Tony leaned down to help her, his hands hesitating before she scooped up her treasure and rose to stare at him intently.

“…Thank you.” Tony, “Mr. Stark.”

“You’re welcome Ms. Potts.”

She turned on her heel, chest heaving, and stomache churning. She was halfway up the stairs when she heard it.

“Hey Pepper?”

She nearly stumbled coming down, “…Yes…” Tony, “Mr. Stark?”

“…If it makes you feel any better I built him with that gift card you gave me.”

He smiled as she opened her mouth and closed it again, “You-“

“You did tell me to regift it.” He shrugged, turning away to yell at one of the robotic arms. She held the tiny dog in her hand-running a finger along the top.

Pepper Potts is not in a habit of naming things. Ironically-she never was. It fell to her mother and father to name pets, to name toys and such. But time moves in all seasons and time does change people.

Day’s later; she set the robot dog on her desk and snapped her fingers, “Radio Shack! Sit.”

The dog sat, it’s tail wagging in a mirror of her own happiness.

Deliberations, daemonfic

Mon, 09 Jun 2008 22:37:20 GMT

Bruce Baker was thinking about the things he’d learned and seen and the one lesson, coming clear above all others reached out a hand and slapped him in the face.

Not that he didn’t deserve it. A man had died because he didn’t see something. He’d tried to treat this as an ordinary activity of an ordinary citizen…something he had to accept he’d never be.

There were eleven where they’d been twelve, Miranda the Grasshopper, Tony the Jackal, Kurt the firefly, Sally the penguin, George the German Shepard. Omar’s pheasant was shaking her head, turning in circles and looking for something that no longer existed. Bob looked grim, Henrietta flapping anxiously from shoulder to shoulder. Leslie was talking in a low voice with her spider, an awkward motion-Bruce noted. She held her arm with her hand out, wrist bent to accommodate the creature.

Marilyn hadn’t moved from her position on the floor. He felt Isis steal a glance down at the Cheetah who looked like he needed a security blanket just as much as she did.

“We’re bringing in the FBI.”

The prosecutor of this ill-fated case had probably drawn this docket by luck. He’d probably embraced it, a big case. He might have had political ambitions. Bruce pitied him, and the dumb move he was about to make.

Drew looked worn, pale and sick. Bruce wondered how long the wolf had her teeth bared, if she’d closed her mouth since this whole debacle had begun.

“I don’t suppose I could convince you that’s a bad idea.” He folded his arms across his chest, “…I mean-“

“We don’t have any other choice. This happened inches from a federal building. The Westgate’s a major hotel in San Diego City, if we hadn’t locked down the hotel there’d be people all over this.”

“There are people all over this.” Tony twisted his Jackal’s ears around, “…Us.”

A few people gathered closer to each other as Uniformed Officers-proudly declared “America’s Finest” moved about taking statements. Bruce watched Sally; squeezing her penguin so tight she looked ready to choke him.

“Miss…”

The officer’s iguana started to move toward her. She recoiled, “…No-no no-“

“Come on now.” The iguana’s voice was smooth, probably meant to be comforting, “…Come on away from him now-“

Bruce ignored the twisting motion of her arms. He ignored the cries of protest as officers tried escorting the ill-fated jury members back to their rooms. He counted the steps to his own cave; his own hidey-hole and held Isis close the moment he was inside.

Her beak found a spot under his neck, pressing as close to him as she could manage, “It never gets any easier.”

No. No it didn’t. No matter what he did, no matter what he ‘d tried, being so close to death never got any easier. His eyes closed.

“It’s not your fault.”

Because that was what it came down to. He knew firsthand what it was to be a victim, to experience violation-the most horrible things that human beings could do to one another. It was a means of coping, trying to help others avoid the same trauma and pain that he went through. To fail meant that he’d failed, that perhaps he hadn’t come through completely unscathed, that he-

“…Baker?”

Drew Niles was shaking his arm, “…You all right?”

“Fine.”

The room wasn’t registering to his vision. He was seeing a far off cabin, a group of tied up and frightened children.

“…You’re uh… squeezing the goose pretty hard there…OW! -“ He threw an angry glare down at the wolf, “Goddamnit…”

“…We’ve got the building locked down. The FBI’s downstairs and we wanted to know if you wanted to go down and meet them.”

Bruce stared at the wolf. Isis spoke for him, lost in memories of unkind days, “…We’re not Feds anymore.”

“…I’m not one to turn down advice. Hell, if you want to be paid-make this official I think we could possibly arrange something…”

“It’s not about the money.” Bruce snapped. He watched as the ADA studied him up and down. Annoyed, the man glared at him-wolf practically snarling.

“This is a big fucking deal. A man is dead…it’s always possible that the killer could be in this hotel and you’re our best damn hope of catching him.”

He put his hands on his hips, staring Bruce down, “…Look, I know why you retired okay? Bruce Baker, famous FBI profiler. I get it man, I really do-and hell, being a writer has got to be preferable to getting inside crazy people’s heads but you stopped being a Fed the day you hung up your badge. Now you’re a citizen-and when you’re a citizen sometimes the responsibility that goes with that requires doing the right thing.”

He squared his jaw, “Are you prepared to do the right thing?”

An impassioned speech-one that Bruce could easily see wouldn’t have worked on anyone else but someone who was a former employee of any form of government. He put a hand to the bridge of his nose, messaging his temple, “…Promise me one thing.”

“Name it.”

“…If this becomes a squabble for territory, hand it over to the FBI and tell the police to do it too.”

Niles’s eyes went wide as Bruce held up a hand. He collected Isis, moving over to the table where he’d stacked his notes and papers. He talked as he went, avoiding looking in the lawyer’s eyes, “I mean it. The FBI is better equipt to handle it. Promise me that, or I swear to god you’re going to have to drag me down there.”

Isis snorted, “That’s telling him.”

Wolf and Lawyer exchanged glances before the beast dropped its head and Niles’s eyes sighed, “…That’s going to get me elected District Attorney.”

“If we survive this.” His gaze fell on the killer’s mug-shot photo, Corporal Richardson with those strange dead eyes, “…If we survive this.”
------------

“This is like that movie.” Sally lay back on her bed, staring at the ceiling. Her roommate was curled up, unmoving, Cheetah beside her, “Y’know, the one with those guys in masks?”

“Don’t-“

“What’s it called? Y’know, where Liv Tyler is just standing there and suddenly there’s this GUY IN A RANDOM WHITE MASK and that creepy. Fucking. Bat…thing…”

“Don’t please…” Marilyn was ordinarily eager to discuss films. She knew exactly which one Sally was talking about too but somehow mentioning horror brought to mind that poor man with his blood all over the floor and that prim elkhound just…just gone…

She rose abruptly, “I’m going to get some air.”

“They said you’re not supposed to leave!” Sally sat up, pulling on the blanket as Harvey-beady black eyes fixing on Raymond. The cheetah looked away.

“Goin’ downstairs. G’head and tell them if you want.”

“…Mari-“ The door closed and locked behind her. Sally sat for a moment, completely alone.

She sighed, “…no sense of self preservation.”

Harvey moved away from her, “Thank the fuck Christ she left. You were gripping me like a fuckin’ doll.” He brushed off his chest, shooting her as dirty a look as he could manage, “I mean really, what the fuck?”

“It’s “In character”. Sally rose, drawing quotation marks around her words as she reached for the nightstand, flipping on her phone.

“Good Afternoon.”

“He’s here. At the hotel.” Sally’s voice was sharp. It lowered an octave as she spoke, sitting up a little straighter-as if she was seated across from someone of great importance, “I thought you’d managed to get him the gun and get him before they figured it out?”

“He doubled back on us. He’s smarter then we thought.” The voice on the other end of the line sighed, “…It’s possibly a side effect.”

“…. That ought to have them lining up to have the procedure done.” Sally rolled her eyes.

“Don’t get smart with me Agent Sale.” The voice snapped, “We have to move delicately and take him out under the eyes of all the damn people crawling through the hotel. The DA on the case called in the bureau. This could get ugly very quickly.”

Sally frowned, “Don’t we have immunity under the patriot act?”

“…Not on something so blatant as this. You know the history as well as I-what people do to other people’s daemons constitutes as war crimes.”

She knew. During the Inquisition there had been something called Bolevangard. That was how it started. It gained momentum with the Nazis in World War 2 and now…

“So what do you want me to do?”

“When he kills again…”

“When?” Sally put a hand on her chest, “You’re counting on it?”

“…It’s in his nature. When he kills again you’ll take him out. A man in the hotel will provide you with the means to capture. Tag and capture only, no kill. We’ll take it from there.”

“What about the courts-“

“There, in the Patriot act, we have immunity.” The voice nodded, “Expect contact at 01800 this evening.”

“Sir.” Sally’s voice remained firm, professional, “I wish to state my objections to this. You are placing twelve-“

“Eleven. Agent Sale.”

“Eleven people in a position that no one should be in. Eleven civilians who don’t have any training or any experience. They’re going to be slaughtered sir.”

“Your objection is noted. Do you feel unequal to the task?”

Sally breathed deep, “…No sir.”

“Good. We’ll extract you shortly afterwards. Good luck.”

“Yes sir.”

She clicked the phone shut. No need for thank yous, no need for apologies-not in her line of work. She found the gun where their man had taped it, hidden. Wheels within wheels that had directed them to this hotel where apparently they would flush out corporal Richardson. She pulled the hammer back, satisfied that it was loaded before placing it back in the hidey-hole she’d gotten it from.

“…This’ll be fun.” Harvey said. He settled back on his haunches, “…Ain’t that right?”

“Barrels.” She closed her eyes. With her head against the pillow, she looked the very image of an individual in deep REM sleep.
------------

He was incomplete.

And in that loss of self, in that sense of something is missing, something being horribly broken in his mind he lived. He was incomplete, a man missing a metaphorical limb and like people who had lost limbs in service (even as he had) there was a definite sense of phantom pain.

His gaze turned to the snake that glanced at him passively. Once they would have shared a heart-a soul. Once their minds were one and he would have thought as she thought.

They were partners. They were still partners in every sense of the word except the one that mattered. A daemon was more then a partner, he or she was a soul, a better half. A companion and a confidant. He felt her slide up beside him and wondered how he could have ever found that comforting.

She was a snake. She was something to be reviled.

But she was useful.

“One of them has to be the mole.”

He was being set up. To a man who should have been rewarded for his sacrifice this was the worst sin, the worst insult to everything he’d suffered. He had given up himself for people who one of the twelve jurors worked for and he would punish them all until he figured out which one deserved his…special attention.

The snake’s eyes narrowed. She rose up, watching even as he did from across the street. The entrance was crawling with police, the normal sloth-like behavior of the citizens disturbed by the police dogs yapping and growling. He allowed himself a humorless snort as a group of teenagers were ousted off their perch by a cop with a canary on his shoulder. A few snapped pictures on cellular phones, their daemons growling playfully.

He turned away when the cop noticed him and continued on with his coffee. The list he’d stolen from his attorney crunched in his pocket. He pulled it out, selected another name before folding it again.

Perhaps there is some otherworldly force in the world after all. Something that governs men and daemons alike, something that reaches across boundaries. Something that shows even in our darkest moments, even in our most lonely states we are not alone.

The man could no longer smile. He has the snake do that for him, some vestige of the tie they shared lingering as they threw money down before a confused waiter, pulling away form the table and the crowds-

Back to the hotel.
----------------------

Agent Lucy Kramer squared her shoulders and prepared to meet with all the opposition charging at her. The FBI had set up their headquarters in the WestGate’s lobby.

Numa put a paw on her shoulder. The chimp shook her head, ears falling low, “…Baker’s one of us.”

“He was one of us.” Lucy’s voice turned abrupt, almost cold, “He’s been a civilian for almost four years now.”

Because there was that dividing line between civilians and authorities, a line that Lucy respected. You couldn’t have people gallivanting around pretending to pretend to be heroes without getting killed.

Except Bruce Baker, with his long solemn face and his goose in hand wasn’t any civilian. Once upon a time he’d been a hero of epic proportions-his cases were still studied at Quantico.

Shit.

“This is the part where I tell you this isn’t a coincidence.” Numa’s voice was soft, “That maybe he’s here for a reason and-“

Lucy put a hand over the monkey’s mouth, lowering her shoulder to help her climb up, “…Doctor Baker-“

The District Attorney waved a hand in her direction, “…Bruce. This is Agent Kramer.”

“Call me Lucy.” Lucy held out a hand and retracted it when Baker didn’t take it. She gestured to the monkey, “And this is Numa.”

“Pleasure.”

The goose, expression sardonic, returned the gracious head nod “…Excuse Bruce, he has very little in the way of classical manners.”

Both daemons laughed as their humans exchanged nervous glances. Lucy brushed hair out of her face, taking a moment to make sure it fell in careful waves over her shoulders, “…We’d be grateful for whatever assistance you can give us.”

“You guys are the ones running the show.” Baker’s voice was hard, “I’m just a civilian.”

Nearby, an Agent escorting a large poodle blinked stupidly. Lucy was aware of the DA’s eyes following them as they moved into the center of the working personnel, clustered together like a pack of feral dogs.

Bruce was in no mood to be asked to clean up the mess, “…Do you know how he got the gun in there and shot his Attorney?”

“I can answer that.” Drew swallowed, “…Maggie said he’d pulled it out.”

“…So it’s your fault.” Agent Kramer whirled to face him. Eileen snarled as Numa stared down at her in contempt, “Your security’s fault.”
“Hey, this is Bush America okay? We don’t jump without a background check.” Drew put his hands on his hips, annoyed, “What, was he supposed to disappear? There’s a reason we have the Order to the law okay? That whole eye-for an eye bullshit works only in principal.”

Bruce let them ramble, trading barbs back and forth. The fact was, the DA was correct. They had been screened and searched. Unless it was an inside job…

“Don’t say that.” Isis’s voice was soft. She whispered in his ear, long slender neck leaning against his chest, “Don’t even think that.”

It made sense, but who’d have enough clout to get themselves on a jury like this? What did this man’s murder of his girlfriend and his best friend have to do with anything? Bruce pushed his hand under his chin, scratching idly at a few stray hairs. He’d forgotten to shave earlier in the day.

The motion pulled Lucy out of her argument, “He’s got something.”

Drew blinked, staring at juror number 5, “…What?”

“He’s like Thelma from Scooby Doo.” The chimpanzee’s voice was high and shrill and ridiculous. Eileen whined when she heard it, “…When Thelma’s got something she says-“

“I need to see Corporal Richardson’s personnel file from the military.”

Eileen pulled her head up, looking Isis in the eye, “I thought she said Jinkies!”

“…Whatever we’re missing is in there. Why was this case tried in a civilian court? Doesn’t Jag’s authority supercede ours?”

Drew’s mouth opened, “…Legally yeah. We initially booked him after he hung the first jury. He was driving and got caught in a routine traffic violation. The thing was, he assaulted a cop.”

“Then shouldn’t this case have been for assault? Why execute him for a capitol crime?”

Lucy Kramer smiled a nasty smile, “Ask your Lawyer friend.”

Bruce turned to Drew who lowered his head and sighed. He put a hand on the wolf’s head, “…The DA insisted that…because it was a crime committed in San Diego that the military’s authority didn’t apply. You’re right, they should have refused extradition into our jurisdiction but we….”

Bruce saw it in a flash. The same reason why any Law Enforcement professional would make a bonehead move.

“You wanted to make a political statement.”

“…They were the ones who pushed the ball into our court.” Niles stood up, defiant, “Why the hell can’t we play with it? You have to turn over the occasional case to us civilians. We’re not a nanny state quite yet.”

“…This is not our fault-“

“Oh?” Eileen was snarling before Bruce could blink.

“This is going to get Ugly.” Isis pressed closer to him, “I don’t suppose you could let me down?”

The FBI Agent’s voice rose in time with the Lawyer’s. They careened off the art deco, running up the glass elevator shaft as the wolf-snarling-swatted an angry paw at the monkey. The commotion was drawing attention; daemons and humans alike stared with wide eyes.

The commotion was also drawing attention away from the form hurtling toward the ground at a high velocity.

Megan Stanford saw it first. She and her family were vacationing in San Diego. She pointed, her daemon shifting lightning quick to the biggest thing it could manage, “Daddy, what is that?”

Later, much later, Bruce would appreciate the timing. It couldn’t have been more perfect.

Agent Kramer was waving her hands around, “What did you expect? That an answer would just-fall out of the sky?”

“As a matter of fact-“

The crash that the body made when it hit the floor was defaning.

What was worse was the dog-a German Shepard. It flailed through the air evaporating the moment that the body of George Mertle hit the linoleum. The psychic effect ran throughout the room-people covered their ears as daemons howled or chortled to themselves. Sudden death was the surest thing to throw people off, to make them forget for however brief a moment that they were…

It didn’t register until Agent Kramer took a step forward to see the body. Someone far above started screaming as the ballet that it s a crime scene began yet again.

High above them, staring down like God, corporal Richardson closed his eyes and clenched his fist. The snake watched, passive, little more then a shadow.

“…We have no choice.”

He wondered what it would be like to share is thoughts with her; hear her opinions as he once had.

“…We have to kill them all.”

The creature nodded as if she’d heard, deaf ears turning toward him as they slithered off the roof into another dark hidey-hole.

Delberations, Daemonfic

Mon, 09 Jun 2008 22:35:28 GMT

By all accounts, the day was gorgeous. Blue skies, a gentle breeze. None of the humidity that sometimes came with these perfect conditions and none of the harsh sunrays that came with the deteriorating ozone layer. This was the sort of day that you moved to San Diego for god help you.

And it was killing Kurt Rogers that he wasn’t out in it.

He was relaxed to be sure, easy enough to do. Risa watched the world from the crest of hair at the top of his head.

A marathon of “Rock of Love”

He was more focused on the love in the room, namely Sally Marks sitting with her emperor penguin on her lap, stroking his feathers and seemingly engrossed in the action. Kirk’s daemon Lazarus was licking a fat looking pig with what appeared to be a pleased expression.

“…Ugh.” The flesh looked too much like Miranda-apparently somewhere engrossed in one of Peter Ludlow’s books, “That’s gotta be nasty.”

“It’s a beautiful expression of their love for each other.” Sally said dreamily, “…I mean-y’know, as real as love can be on a TV show.”

“It’s shit.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“Why.” Kurt waved a hand in the direction of the idiot box, “Would any daemon pick someone at random to do that to? I mean-even in-this kind of takes the fun out of the whole finding your one true love thing. You know Kimiko? Remember the last episode?”

“That was sad, Her daemon solidifying on the show.” Sally shrugged, “But that’s what producers want.”

“Drama. Too bad real life’s got far more drama then reality TV.” He changed the channel.

Risa sighed-buzzing off his head to land on his hand, “…How’d you sleep?”

Sally blinked, “How’d I sleep?”

He nodded. She leaned back in her chair, the penguin hopping out of her arms to sit on the floor beside the plush purple cushioning, “…Okay. Reasonably-given that there’s some kind of madman out to kill us. I’m beginning to see why people try to worm their way out of Jury Duty.”

He laughed, “…That bad?”

“. And then when we found out about Mr. Baker…”

Kurt shook his head. Finding out that they had a celebrity along for the ride had killed whatever sanity these people had. He saw it in the floral room, his restaurant, and all the time. Famous people, people with a “name” would walk in, daemons proud beside them and be reduced to a side show-a spectacle. No wonder most celebrities were jerks.

But Baker (excuse me, Ludlow) actually seemed reasonably okay with it. He hadn’t expected the goose.

The goose was bizarre. When asked about it, Baker had laughed, “My wife’s daemon substituted in for mine. Reese is a good dog.”

He wished he could get someone to sub for him. He stroked one of Risa’s wings gently and stared with covetous eyes at Harvey. The penguin looked soft and cuddly.

Or hell, nine times out of ten Marilyn had her hands wrapped in that cheetah’s fur. That was a sign of weakness, clinging to your daemon like a security blanket. He hadn’t seen the cheetah change however so he’d been forced to revise his opinion. You were supposed to be happy with what you got.

He stroked Risa’s wing again. She was so small her voice couldn’t be heard-anywhere but in his own mind.

[I love you too Kurt.]

[It’s not you Risa, it’s me…]

[And me if you think about it. I mean, I had a hand in it too, I’m sorry, this felt right to me dammit. And I’m bigger then most actual fireflies! People see me-It’s not like you’re some …some freak without a daemon…]

Their conversations were interrupted by a knock at the door.

Sally rose first. She tugged at her jeans before unlocking the door and staring, “…George…”

Marley was acting more and more like the police dog she’d once been. They were put two to a room (Sally and Marilyn were in the room next to his.) George had ventured out for food-which meant going to the court officers assigned to protect them for nourishment.

“Tacos and Burritos from a local eatery.”
“Eat up. You’ll need your strength.” Marley said, “They think they’ve got him.”

Sally and Kurt exchanged glances, “…Really?”

“…On the border. Trying to flee the country. Spotted his coat at one of the checkpoints. Isn’t going to do him a damn bit of good. They confiscated his passport for the trial.”

It was common knowledge that you couldn’t get into Mexico without a passport nowadays. Kurt frowned, hesitating as Sally moved in on the bags of food, “…Wouldn’t he know that?”

Sally looked up, taco in hand, “Know what?”

“That you can’t get into Mexico without a passport. Wouldn’t he know that? Wouldn’t his picture be everywhere?”

“This guy was special ops.” George said. He sat on one of the beds, “I knew a bunch of Special Ops guys in the Army…Freaky shit. Disappear and reappear without thinking about it. That was what made me realize why his daemon got me so spooked back at the courthouse.”

Sally chewed thoughtfully as Kurt nodded, “Go on.”

“…She had that distant look right? Glazed. Glassy. The other daemons looked exactly like that. He was special ops, probably saw some hard action. I was thinking we ask about his war record.”

“…Past stuff can’t be admitted.” Kurt said, “Right?”

Sally looked confused, “…His war record?”

“If he was enlisted he’d have a list of all the stuff he did-or at least the stuff they can tell us about.” George nodded, “His record might lead to why he did what he did.”

“He did what he did because he’s a nut.” Sally said bluntly, “ a psychotic nut. Why do we need more reasons then that?”

“…Nothing is what it seems kid.” George was holding an open hot sauce container. His gaze turned grim, looking into the red as if the color held all the reason and purpose in the universe, “…Especially in situations like this.”

Silence filled the room. The breeze outside in the open window seemed colder, chillier-straight from the artic waves even now washing up on shore and frightening happy children and carefree surfers.

Kurt swallowed, “…Pass the…pass the Guacamole.”
Throwing the police off the trail had been cake.

Easier then cake. He wasn’t going back, not when it wasn’t his fault. Not when what they’d done to him was something that he was positive-absolutely positive-they could reverse. No, he wouldn’t go back.

The surest way to do that was to get rid of the man he was watching.

Watching, even now as he enjoyed the comforts of the resort. Feigning class, he raised his hands as the Elkhound exchanged words with a Doberman pincher beside her. They parted ways over a glass of wine and the metaphorical kiss shared by all who thought they were masters of the universe.

Now. Now.

He hefted his snake.

Now. Move now, move quickly. He climbed onto the elevator after the man.

Roger was in his element. His wife was fine, the kids were complaining that they hadn’t been allowed to go with him but the important thing was that they understood. Clarissa was taking them to Disneyland.

Betty wagged her tail, “…Wish we were going.”

“I don’t.” Ugh, the crowds and the noise, the stink of too many people in one place, “…Bite your tongue.”

The order and the movement brought the Elkhound’s gaze to the figure’s shoes, “…Roger…”

“…Not now.” Roger was checking his PDA, “I’m on line with the restaurant.” There was some kind of problem with the stove.

“…Roger!”

“What is it Bet-“ The long tail of a snake, a massive anaconda twitched from beside the man’s shoe. Roger felt his stomach go cold as the PDA fell to the floor, “…Oh…”

Oh. Oh!

They didn’t have time to scream as Corporal Richardson reached over, hands around Roger’s throat.
---------

BRUCE sat in his hotel room trying to sort through the facts of the case. Leslie sat opposite from him, watching him work. Occasionally her gaze would lift from the papers, intrigued.

“…Such detail?”

“Detail’s what’s needed.” He was coming to rely on Leslie. She reminded him of the agents in charge he’d worked with on numerous occasions, “…Figure out what his motive is.”

“He’s in trouble and he’s running. What motive do we need other then that?”

“We need to think about why he’d run.” Isis said. She looked to Leslie, focusing instead on Malachi on her shoulder, “…It’s difficult for him to.”

“It’s not in his nature.”

“That’s right.” Bruce held up the coroner’s report, “…Now, when a human being commits a violent act? The daemons are disturbed. Look at this police report…”

“Ice cold.” Leslie read the folder, dropping it back onto the pile, “What’s the point?”

“It’s documented.” Bruce’s voice was calm. He leaned back on the couch, breathing deep as he looked at the photos, “When Ted Bundy committed a crime? He had to restrain his own daemon. Souls that kill don’t like to do it. It’s against human nature, our most innate nature.”

“…So you’re saying that when we kill we’re actually going against nature.”

“In theory. The point is, it’s an outward sign of inward distress.” Bruce nodded, “…He had no distress.”

“Maybe he’s just cool under pressure.” Leslie said, “I could use a guy like that.”

“No, It’s more then that. Officers got the creeps being around him. We all did during the trial. How the hell could he affect all of us? I’d be anxious to talk to the Defense Attorney’s daemon about it.”

“Maybe you can ask that DA about it when he comes back.” Leslie looked him up and down, “You don’t look like a cop.”

“Technically I’m not.”

“You’re a profiler. Like Mulder or that guy on Millennium. That how you know all this? Why do it?”

Bruce tented his fingers under his chin, looking at Isis, “…When I was a kid I was kidnapped. This man, this guy’s name was Wagner. He took kids-boys-and did things to them.”
Leslie had frozen, going almost silent.

“…This is all in my autobiography. Don’t look so shocked. I spent three hours with him and came out wanting to know what made him tic. My dad was a shrink, it came naturally to me.” He sighed, “…So I started studying. I got the chance to interview him later in prison.”

“What’d he say?”

“He said…” Isis’s voice was clear, “That people do what they do not because they have to. There’s no secret reason. He did it because he wanted to because it was what was best for him.

Leslie opened her mouth to reply when the door rattled.

It rattled again shortly after that, frantic pounding. Something roared outside the door, “…Marilyn…”

They both rose, Leslie standing instinctively behind him as Bruce opened the door, “…Mari-“

“It’s Roger!”

That was when it hit them both that her front was covered in gore. It oozed off her white T-shirt-robot red and blue and black and stick, “…Roger-He’s-“

She buried her hands in the cheetah’s neck, collapsing into the big cat. It fell to him to look up at them, eyes locked with theirs in mute appeal, “He’s dead!”

deliberations, daemonfic

Mon, 09 Jun 2008 22:33:46 GMT

There’s only so much that you can do when something like a basic bloodbath happens in a courthouse. Drew Niles was doing just that, keeping an eye on his twelve jurors and trying to avoid looking out the window. Some quick-thinking court employee had put out snacks that nobody was touching. Juror number six was comforting juror number three, arm wrapped around her shoulder while Juror number nine conversed with a grasshopper.

Eileen looked ready to be out there among them, offering whatever comfort she could. Occasionally she’d start to move only to find she couldn’t go far-two feet away from the man sitting by himself next to the window.

Outside, the San Diego night had turned blue-almost crisp. It looked like a picture postcard, the sort of thing they’d use to entice people to come to the city now apparently the center of major scrutiny. Black trees silhouetted themselves against the dozens of tiny colored stars that made up the city at large.

Eileen pressed her nose against Drew’s knee, “…Are you all right?”

He didn’t bother to reply. The cell phone shattered the peace of the room. Juror number eight jumped. The hawk let out a scream as juror number ten tried to keep her silent.

“Mr. Niles?”

Drew swallowed, “…Is this Doctor Swartz?” Dr. Swartz was apparently the attending when the paramedics brought in Maggie-straight from the courthouse.

“Yes…Ms. Carson is doing just fine now. She’s still in the ICU, but she’s stabilizing. Thought you’d like to know.”

“…I do.” Drew didn’t care about Margaret Carson in a close manner, but to see a colleague hurt in such a way was one of the things you dreaded in this line of work. He watched the daemons around the room relax-one by one-as he closed the phone.

“Can we go home now?”

The penguin girl squeezed the bird closer. Drew swallowed bile as twelve hopeful eyes met his gaze.

Eileen was on her feet in a heartbeat as he rose-steady-ponderous. In times of crisis the public looked to it’s leaders-the ones that could be found and easily reached of course. Drew gazed over the jury he’d helped select and sighed, “No, I’m sorry.”

Cue the groans, cue the angry noises. He listened to them all before licking his lips, “I am sorry, for what it’s worth. I didn’t intend for any of this to happen-understand what you’re feeling right now and imagine…imagine being the one responsible for causing it and feeling that same fear.”

“Fear?” Juror number seven blinked. His Elkhound’s tail twitched as Eileen went over to her, nose-to-nose, paw-to-paw, “What fear?”

“…Dude-you guys still haven’t caught Corporal Whosis?” Juror number eleven looked stunned, “…He’s still on the loose?”

Corporal Whosis was Corporal Richardson; a United States marine who went to a far off place and apparently came back…incomplete. In a fit of rage he shot and killed his fiancée and his best friend. He’d stood trial in a civilian court after a lengthy process. Drew wondered what fit of madness had possessed the judge to allow that.

“Corporal Richardson is not in custody-“

“So he could be out there.” The woman with the grasshopper set her daemon down on her knee, “He could be coming for us.”

The nervous tide rose to a swell in the room as Drew closed his eyes tight. Juror number two-the foreperson-looked to him. Fury cascaded across the room to slap him in the face, “How could you be so goddamn stupid!”

“How hard can it be to find one guy?”

Juror number five spoke up. His goose honked-drawing the attention of everyone in the room, “I used to work for the FBI…it’s harder then you might think.”

Eyes opened. Drew saw the people who’d up until now probably thought this man an unassuming bystander stare. Juror number six blinked as the cheetah rose-moving toward the goose, “Holy shit you’re a fuckin’ Federale?”

“No.”

Baker! That was his name. Drew didn’t fall prey to the common pissing contest that came from Federal Authorities meeting State or local cops. He had a healthy respect for the Feds. Hell, they were coming over to assist in the investigation-this guy might be a great help.

“…Bruce Baker.”

“…I know that name…” The Jackal guy leaned forward, “Isn’t that the guy who writes under the name Peter Ludlow?”

The Grasshopper juror made a startled noise, “Death: The final Clue? The Adventures of Elizabeth Racer? I carry all your books in my store Mr. Baker-I didn’t-I can’t believe-“

“Save it honey.” The Juror with a German Shepard said, “…You want to be a fan…whatever you go ahead and do it when we’re not all in danger. Isn’t that what the case is? We’re all in danger Mr. Niles?”

Eileen spoke, “It’s not danger…”

“Some guy who shot his own attorney out on the loose? He probably knows all our names. All our faces.” The woman with the grasshopper winced, “Look, Mr. Ludlow-I mean Mr. Baker-“

The room erupted in argument. The fans crowding around poor Juror number five-just as he shot a helpless glance in Drew’s direction.

Eileen straightened beside him, “We’re not going to get anything done like this.”

“What would you like me to do?” he picked at the cuffs of his shirt, “Li, They’re nervous, they’re scared-“

“You were the one who put yourself in charge of them ‘rew.”

“Yeah, as an attorney. As a prosecutor. As an officer of the city of San Diego.”

“…So? Command.” She sat back, “Here. I’ll get you started.”

She threw back her head and howled.

Daemons don’t vocalize. Not initially, not normally. Their cries and their noises could only be heard with people in close proximity. Eileen was different-considered special if anything because of her…special talent. Her howls broke barriers, shattered eardrums and almost automatically garnered attention. It was useful in a crowded courtroom-Drew couldn’t count the number of judges who’d thanked him after she’d restored order to crazy proceedings.

It worked. The German Shepard sat back with a whine. Baker’s goose honked as the cheetah snarled-twisting around in a jerky motion as her human rubbed at her eyes. Silenced, they returned to their places.

Eileen wagged her tail, “You can talk to them now.”

“…Fuck that shit, you could probably command us to jump off the Coronado Bridge.” The waiter with the firefly shook his head, “…Isn’t there something illegal about that?”

“I don’t have to worry about that. I’m a District Attorney.”

He straightened his cuffs, “Now. Taking into account this situation-the judge has decided that you’ll all be sequestered until we…locate corporal Richardson.” He paused, “Were you guys on the verge of a verdict?”

Someone chuckled as Bruce studied him, “Can you ask us that?”

“No.” Drew admitted. He put his hand on Eileen’s head, “But I kind of have to hope that you were otherwise this trial will be postponed indefinitely.”

“Why was it postponed?” The man with the Elkhound patted the dog’s head, “…I read about that in the paper earlier.”

Eileen coughed. He would have.

Drew ignored her. He held up his hands, “…Corporal Richardson was declared initially unfit to stand trial until we caught him in the Mental Hospital helping with other people’s defenses. We believed that he’d faked an insanity defense. The second time we didn’t make it to jury selection-one of the witnesses recanted his testimony.

The Cheetah snorted, “Did he wash up in the Harbor?”

“…No.” Drew frowned, “He recanted his testimony. We had to go back to the crime scene. This was the third and final time.”

“Doesn’t Double Jeopardy apply?”

“…. Yes and no. A judge overturned his not-guilty by reason of mental disease or defect plea after the first trial-so he can be re-tried especially when we figured out he…” his fingers drew quotation marks, “Snowed the system.”

“You must really want this guy then.” The foreperson ran a finger along her spider’s back, staring at him intently, “…I mean really badly.”

Drew had dreams about the photos sometimes. It was a case the likes of which San Diego hadn’t seen in a…long time.

Yes. He did want him. He wanted someone apparently clever enough to snow the system. He wanted to prove that they could put away the really dangerous criminals. He wanted his name in the papers. He wanted…

His gaze lowered, “all I want is for you folks to be safe. San Diego on the other hand-wants this guy badly enough to put you up in the Westgate until this whole fiasco is over.”

Eyes went wide. A few people grinned. The Westgate was one of the biggest hotels in the city-where the pros from the comic Convention stayed in five-star accommodations, “…You don’t think he went far.”

“…That’s what the police are supposing at the moment.”

Juror three squeezed her penguin tight, “The Westgate’s supposed to be the best hotel in the city!”

“…Can’t argue with that.” Juror number eleven said airily, “I do business with the Grande Café in their lobby-“

“Think we could catch a padres game?”

“…People!” Drew held up his hands, “If you think this is going to be a picnic I can assure you-that won’t be the case.”

He swallowed, “This man has proven dangerous-apparently committing three murders. You’ll be kept under lock and key until this can be settled and you can return your verdict.”

The prospect of their accommodations thrilled them too much too care. He watched them file out after the bailiff-into the waiting van that would take them to their homes to gather their belongings. Eileen leaned back, “…Are we going to visit Maggie?”

He nodded once before he realized that one of the jurors was still there.

Juror number five was of middling height, the sort of face that looked as if it had seen too much for a single human being to bear. His goose daemon ruffled her feathers, “…Mr. Baker?”

Baker stared at him, “…One of the jurors returned a not guilty verdict.”

Shit. Drew rubbed at his head, getting to his feet to walk the man out, “…Do you know who?”

Drew shook his head, “I know who’s exempt though. The waiter-Kurt. He’s the firefly kid. The cheetah girl too. She drew a picture on hers.”

“Anyone else?”

“Bob.”

Drew snorted, “Bob?”

“The Red-Tailed Hawk.”

They hit the elevator as Drew, opening a stack of folders, picked one at random, “…Robert King. Owns a used car dealership out on the mile of cars. He’s the guy in the cowboy hat.”

Bruce’s eyes widened, “I didn’t recognize him.”

“Few do without the hat.” He closed the folder, looking at Baker. Baker wasn’t a Fed per say, they were incorrect about that. He was a profiler, “…I can’t think this is the first time you’ve served on a jury.”

“As a civilian.” Baker cradled his goose in his arms. The bird closed her eyes, leaning against him, “…It’s…weird.”

“Throws you off?”

Baker smirked, “…Never.”

“How about keeping an eye on this then?” They touched down into the lobby, the middle of another argument between various jurors. The foreperson was holding up her hands for quiet.

Drew stopped him, “Why didn’t you agree to be foreperson?”

Baker studied the woman for a moment, thoughtfully, “She’s ruthless. She’s a leader. That’s what’s needed.”

“…What’s needed is a guy with your skills.” Drew pointed out, “If half of what I’ve heard about you is true-“

“This isn’t a movie Mr. Niles.” Drew flinched as baker smiled, “…The guy with the forensic skills isn’t gonna win this. That’ll be your job.”

He moved over to join them as Drew watched. He ruffled Eileen’s ear for a moment before turning around. Maggie was waiting-and he didn’t expect to get a lick of sleep tonight.
------------

The coin turns, the situation shifts. There can be no law without crime for it to act as a buffer against. The polar opposites of man, the good-and the evil.

But he was not evil. He was confused and broken, broken in body and broken in mind and he feared that he wouldn’t be able to run any longer.

His hand reaches up to touch the snake as he watches with the training that once separated him from other men-watches and smiles as he sees the van pull away. It doesn’t take much effort to get into the car he stole to follow.

The blood on the windshield doesn’t bother him nearly as much as it should either.
------------

There is a moment of privacy.

Difficult in such circumstances, “I’m alone.”

“You throw them off?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” The other voice on the end of the phone is disguised, “…People can’t get ahold of Richardson. Understand?”

There is a pause, “People are dying Marty.”

“I’d kill half of San Diego for what that man’s got. You understand? Don’t let anyone stop you. With luck, you won’t have to do anything except sit there and look pretty. We can’t let people know what we’re doing.”

A firm nod, “Yes sir.”

“…Anybody suspect?”

“No one suspects.” A pause, “at least I don’t think.”

There is another pause, “Can you speak longer?”

“No Babe. Sorry.”

“Contact us again when you have another report Agent. You’re doing very well.”

“Thanks for being so understanding sweetie.” Cue a simpering smile, “…That’s my duty after all. Law and Order.”

There is a click, “…bye bye.” And a traitor moves to a circle of people curious about the grand lobby they’ve just entered.

Deliberations, daemonfic

Mon, 09 Jun 2008 22:32:01 GMT

Title: Deliberations
Fandom: Original/HDM (His Dark Materials)
Rating: R. (Character death)
Summary: What should be a routine capitol murder case teaches Bruce Baker and his twelve colleagues that nothing-especially in regards to capitol murder-is ever routine.
Notes: Part two of Deliberations. Something goes awry, there’s clearly more at work here.

Here’s hoping you’re all enjoying this.

In the beginning there was the word and the word was law to the first man and the first daemon who walked forth from the Garden of Eden. The first of the commandments, thou shalt not kill had been broken numerous times since that final finger wagging by a diety who would remain involved but absent. In his wake he set up courts filled with people who occasionally came across justice when they weren’t looking for it.

The circumstances are these.

A man killed two people, a woman he claimed to love and another man he claimed to cherish. The Municipal Court of San Diego under the Honorable Barbara Hester were asked to find if he was guilty or innocent of the crimes against him. His future hung in the balance, and a jury of his peers, twelve humans and twelve daemons were asked to decide his fate.

Bruce Baker was scratching Isis’s head, “…Do you really want to go over it again?”

“From the beginning.” The Grasshopper woman was no longer just “Grasshopper. “He’d learned her name was Miranda, her daemon was Bacchus, she owned a bookstore in Hillcrest. She was gay, something she was extremely open about unusual given her exterior-a pudgy librarian with thick glasses and long curly brown hair. She looked like the motherly sort-far too shy to do some of the things she’d described doing.

Enter a chorus of groans as their foreperson- (She was no longer just “The spider” her name was Leslie and she worked at a Bank) opened the folder again, “…Marilyn…”

Marilyn worked at a fast food restaurant. She’d been incredibly excited to be a part of the proceedings-until they actually got underway. Isis shot the cheetah a dirty look-apparently wide-awake. The cat was alert, staring straight ahead…

Unlike the human dozing in the chair, “…What? -Wha-“

“Aw c’mon now…” the German Shepard was George. Ex-army, and a former cop, “We’ve been over this a dozen times.”

“Don’t be so quick to judge.” The firefly was Kurt. Kurt was a waiter who’d automatically placed himself next to Marilyn. It had taken Bruce a moment to realize that they’d divided based on occupation. Leslie sat at the head of the table; hand on the massive tarantula purring beside her with Kurt, Marilyn, Tony (The Mechanic), and Sally who worked for Radio shack on one side. Sally kept her hand on the emperor penguin like it was a stuffed toy, something the daemon didn’t seem to mind.

On the opposite side sat George, Marley prim and proper beside him. The Elkhound belonged to Roger who managed a four star restaurant and hated being here even more then George did. The Chimp was Lucy, a Fashion Designer who kept a home in San Diego and was missing her big show in Milan to be here. Everyone had been wary of Omar-not because of his nationality (He was a Muslim they’d all learned) but because he was a major executive on a major oil company headquartered in town.

And then there was bob. Bob who was so unmemorable that George had trouble recalling what he did or who he was-only thinking about the hawk on his shoulder and how pretty she (she?) was.

“Mr. Baker?”

“Bruce?”

“Yo.” A finger reached over and poked him. Bruce jerked, startled, “…Hey!”

“Hey yourself.” Kurt withdrew, “…C’mon man, give us the coroner’s stuff. That’s what you were taking notes on right?”

Truth be told, after the scandal in the courtroom he’d sort of stopped taking notes, but that was beside the point. Isis stirred beneath his hands, honking as she alighted atop the table, “…Cause of death was same for them both. Two gunshots. Went through both bodies.”

“…Ow.” The penguin spoke, Sally jerking in surprise, “That had to hurt.”

“…Sally-“ Leslie’s voice was calm, “…You were the one who was supposed to be watching his daemon-what kind of a bead did you get?”

Daemons through a loop into the justice system that no one had anticipated. On shows they were always at each other’s throats-people bleeding from wounds. The same taboos were enforced, but if you were a suspect and the officer deemed you a “danger” to yourself or others they could use their daemon to secure you. Consequently, it was made a practice (unspoken of course) to watch daemons at trial.

Sally shifted nervously, “…Orlando?”

The penguin sighed, “…I didn’t like it.”

Because daemons could see things that people couldn’t see, saw things that ordinary humans didn’t understand.

“I got that vibe too.” Lucy’s daemon spoke up, clambering onto the table, “There was a real…”

“Cold vibe?” George said, “…Like…”

“He had ice water in his veins.” Tony said. His daemon nodded assent. She set her paws on the table, “You could tell that motherfucker was a badass motherfucker.”

“We’re not talking about that.” Miranda spoke up abruptly, “we’re talking about his state of mind. Going on gut instinct’s good but Sal-“ She turned to the penguin girl who jerked as if struck, “did you get anything concrete?”

Bruce wondered what his wife was making for dinner. He wondered if Reese was playing with Lepis and Conner. He wondered what the day at the beach was going to be like.

“Because need I remind you.” Miranda was always saying things like that. She’d initially opted for foreperson spot despite Leslie being elected. She continued to prattle on, listing meaningless reasons as the occasional daemon rolled their eyes.

“She’s a bank manager.” Isis waved a wing at him, “That’s why we picked her.”

“I know.” He threw his goose a look, “Keep out of my mind issy.”

“Well dammit, if you’re not paying attention…”

Bruce closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. They were good chairs, good enough to keep him from thinking about Miranda’s tirade. They weren’t just doing this for corporal Rogers, they were doing this for Veronica and Melbourne who were dead (thank you very much) along with Andrew and Nolan who’d also been “struck down”

“She talks like a writer.”

“Probably is.” Bruce Yawned. He could just see it, a travel writer, science fiction, fantasy, someone who fantasized about real life and took offense when anyone talked about it thusly. Come to think of it, a lot of the kids there had that vibe. The blonde with the cheetah wouldn’t shut up about movies while Kurt would roll dice around in his hand while bored.

Leslie folded her hands in front of her, “Miranda, you can’t convict on a daemon bead alone. Our system is about the facts involving the individual.”

“The facts are all very clear.” Omar said, “I’m voting for conviction.”

“We’ll do this democratically.” Bob murmured. He grabbed for a piece of paper and began to tear it into bits as his Hawk spoke, “…We all write our votes, throw them in a hat. That’ll come up with a verdict.”

“…Is that what we’re supposed to do?” Sally exchanged glances with Tony, “…I mean, just vote like that?”

“The miracle of the democratic process.” Miranda yawned, “…Might be able to make the showing of the Incredible Hulk after all.”

“Oooo How is that?” Roger didn’t look at his paper as he wrote, “…I’ve heard good things.”

“Meh.” Kurt said, “…Last one sucked.” He folded his piece of paper in half and in half again, “Can’t think why this one would be any better.”

“Doesn’t it have that guy from American history X in it?” George pulled a had out of nowhere, “…C’mon now-everybody push your papers to the center of the table.”

“Why’re we doing that?” Sally asked, “Shouldn’t we put them in a hat?”

“Close your eyes and do it.”

“Now that.” Bruce heard himself speak, “Seems kind of odd.”

“Makes it fair.” Leslie closed her eyes. Isis’s world went dark as well as Bruce pushed the tiny square of paper to the center of the table. Shafts of light fell across them, a collected bundle of trash that would apparently decide life or death for the man involved in the brutal murder.

“What d’you think?”

Leslie grabbed the papers, pushing them toward her. Isis cuddled against Bruce’s front, “…He’s guilty.”

“…Glad we’re on the same page.”

“…What kind of a bead did you get off that daemon?” Bruce was curious, “I mean, snakes are usually evil people right?”

“Or teachers. People who study things. It’s not one clear cut definition.” Isis turned to look at Leslie, “There. Verdicts.”

Leslie seemed to sit up a little straighter. With her combed appearance and the spider on her shoulder she looked murderous herself. Bruce wondered if this was the gaze she used on her bank employees, on the people at her meetings. Makes me wonder what it’d be like to work for her…

“Okay. Guilty-“

He saw bob lean back.

Leslie unfolded another square, “Guilty…”

He wondered if the firefly was, even now, chastising her human for folding the paper in half and half again. Kurt shrugged, leaning back in his chair with his hands behind his head.

“Guilty-“

“That was me!” Sally held up a hand before the penguin, eyes narrowed, muttered something beneath his breath.

“Not supposed to say anything bonehead.” Marilyn shrugged.

“…Who drew the little picture of the guy with the gavel waving it around?”

Marilyn looked away as the cheetah shifted its weight from foot to foot, “It’s a compulsion we can’t really help.”

“Hope the judge doesn’t see that.” Roger chuckled, “Might not take it too kindly.”

“…Guilty.”

The recitations read straight. Guilty across the board. Bruce imagined going home and hugging his wife, going home to a nice hot meal-telling his family about the case…

“…Woah. Okay-who wrote innocent?”

The dream died as the jurors groaned. Leslie rubbed at her temple, “c’mon now, who put in the innocent?”

“…Can’t we convict with eleven?” Kurt asked, “…please?”

“I’ve got to get home!”

“My wife and I have dinner plans.” Roger said bluntly, “I don’t intend to remain here and miss them.”

“We’re gonna have to.” Marilyn said, “…We’re going to have to stay and be sequestered at a hotel until we can come up with a verdict.”

More adults groaned as Leslie shot the fast food worker a look that would melt a glacier if given one in the room, “That’s only in the movies.”

“…What, are they going to lock us in here?”

“This would go a lot faster if someone would admit that they put the verdict in there.” George said, “Come on now, which one of you was it? Which one of you thinks this scumbag is innocent? I mean-“

His words were interrupted by a loud noise-a scream outside the courtroom.

Bruce blinked. Isis was on her feet as the biggest daemons in the room rose, dragging their humans forcibly to the door.

“…What was that?”

“…Gunshot.” Marilyn watched the door warily, “…Didn’t think it’d be so loud.”

“That wasn’t a gunshot.” Kurt snapped, “They don’t fire gunshots in the building.”

“The girl’s right son.” Marley nosed at the door as George moved forward, “I’m an ex-cop-“

“Bullshit!” Leslie growled, “and I’m the foreperson!”

“You-ma’am-are a civilian! You can’t go out there!”

“Like Hell I can’t!” The spider reared up its legs as the German Shepard growled. Bruce backed away, knocking into Bob who’s hawk shifted anxiously across his shoulders.

There was another gunshot, an angry noise before Tony nodded to the Jackal, “I’m going.”

George and Leslie’s mouth opened at the same time as he elbowed into the door with Kurt following directly behind him…

Isis was the first to say it. “Like a movie indeed.”

Bruce laughed. It was the only thing he could think of doing.

The hallway outside the courtroom was a study in destruction. Two smoking gunshots hissed from the door opposite the anti-chamber where they’d been asked to deliberate. A court officer lay back, blood oozing from a hole in his chest.

Sally’s penguin started to whimper. The cheetah snarled, the dog’s tails twitching. His daemon-whatever it had been-was gone. A smoking reminder of who he’d been gone to dust and glory.

There was a noise. Everyone braced as something came stumbling out of the room across from them. Something large and white faded in and out of reality as The Defense attorney dropped to her knees.

“Get out of the way.”

Roger moved to help her, his elkhound going for the swan. Leslie nodded mutely, shoving George and Miranda out of his way as he reached for the creature, “I did a tour in med-school.”

“Really?”

Sally sniffled, “…He died…”

“She’s almost dead.” Leslie snapped, “Sal, get her something to wrap that wound in.” she knelt, hand on the woman’s shoulder, “Who did this to you?”

The attorney shook her head.

“…Maggie!”

Twelve heads looked up as the Assistant District Attorney appeared at the end of the hallway. The police straightened beside him, their dog daemons looking to the jurors and shooting them dirty looks, “Get back-Get back-“

“Maggie, Jesus-“ The man put a hand on her shoulder, “…Maggie?”

“He did it.”

“…Who? Who did?”

“…Sir!”

The cop’s name was Samson, a bear of a man with huge hairy hands and a face covered with a bushy mustache. His St. Bernard dwarfed Marley, originally the biggest dog in the room, “…Corporal Richardson’s gone.”

Isis couldn’t resist a snap even then, held securely in Bruce’s arms-not seeming to mind how much he was trembling, “…So much for a chance for reason.”

The Defense Attorney laughed, a loud noise that made everyone jump. It sounded almost like a gunshot.

Shortfic, Batman

Mon, 09 Jun 2008 22:28:05 GMT

Title: When does a Killer not Kill?
Fandom: Batman: The Long Halloween Continuity.
Characters/Pairings: Edward Nigma.
Rating: G.
Summary: In the aftermath of the one assassination that Holiday did not complete. Edward Nigma wonders why he was left alive. When does a killer not kill? Better question: Why does a killer not kill?
Notes: This is why I like working late at night. The ideas-they flood my brain.

It is Raining.

Edward Nigma stands frozen in a graveyard of bullets his mind a running blank. The rain patters whisper soft. Soft as holiday’s footprints, soft as the wet slap of the umbrella lying at his feet. In his mind, on his lips are a dozen rhymes, a dozen words for rain and all he can do is mumble. The riddle of riddles.

“When does a Killer not Kill?”

Ridiculous. No self-respecting killer would fail so brazenly in his mission. Kill-that was what these people did. To send a message or frighten, to satisfy some animal instinct they killed. He didn’t kill, there was no mystery in it except…except…

“When does a killer not kill?”

A killer wouldn’t kill himself first of all. That would defeat the purpose of killing. He slides to the concrete, his butt sinking into the wet of the stone and the ground.

“When does a killer not kill?”

Someone they want to live of course, but that was contradictory in and of it. If they were so labeled-“Killer”-how could they not want to kill everyone and everything?

No. This was a message killing. The killer does not kill because they want to send a message. A message to whom? Regarding what? And what on earth did it have to do with him?

His eyes close. He pulls off his hat and lets it slide off his head. It splashes in the water.

He was a bit player in the rogue’s gallery, a criminal yes but not someone to be truly…feared. He wasn’t the equal of Poison Ivy, of the Scarecrow or any of Gotham’s other host of miscreants. He was Edward Nigma who was the best with riddles and questions and sending a message to someone would want them to ask…

Ask what?

Ask for an answer.

The answer hits him out of the blue, “But that doesn’t make any sense—because if a killer wanted an answer he should have come straight to him. More civilized then pointing a gun. He would have been more then willing to help out.

No. No he didn’t want an answer- he wanted people to question. To ask a question. The question wasn’t who does a killer not kill-it was why doesn’t a killer kill?

The difference between who and why. People confused the two; they weren’t separate concepts but two parts of the same equation. Like Question and answer, two important parts to a single equation…

Who-No-Why doesn’t a killer Kill?

Because they wanted the people who came looking for Edward Nigma to ask why he wasn’t dead. Why out of all of Holiday’s victims he was the only one to live and see his face (granted it was dark and covered by both an umbrella and a large Fedora but it was still a face) Because-Because-

The answer comes in a flash of insight as Edward Nigma smiles.

Sophia Falcone is massive-standing in front of him, “…Get out of our Alley.”

He is only too happy to oblige. He has the word to spread. The Holiday Killer wanted attention drawn to something specific. He had a puzzle he wanted to solve.

And Edward Nigma did that. He solved puzzles. He was only too happy to help.

Speed Racer, Fuji, Moviefic

Mon, 09 Jun 2008 22:23:13 GMT

Title: Fuji Helxicon
Fandom: Speed Racer/Movie verse
Characters/Pairings: Racer X, Inspector Detector, shades of Racer X/Minx.
Rating: PG-13 for some adult language.
Summary: Racer X at Fuji, what we didn’t see during the film.
Notes: This was a scene they should have included-at least in my head. Yes, Ramen’s perpetual love of Meta is evident. It took all my willpower not to name the CIB doctor “Jack Shepard.”

The track at Fuji Helxicon is not one of the nicer tracks in the WRL league. It’s multi-loops required special equipment for both car and driver; modified harnesses tried to reduce some of the G-Force and…failed.

If you couldn’t stand the heat get out of the oven. During the typical race, a T-180 driver had to withstand upwards of four Gs. Those who raced Fuji withstood eight on a good day.

Racer X had qualified at Magny-Cours but admittedly anyone could have qualified at Magny-Cours. The racetrack was older then dirt and built without any of the loops, the twists and the twirls that were ordinarily a natural part of every WRL sanctioned track.

In some ways, that made it more difficult.

He wondered if Speed had mastered that. The need for patience versus the need to put on an impressive show, the need to prove something. According to sources at the CIB, Royalton was angry with a young racer who’d refused sponsorship. X had hard money down that it was Speed-and while he couldn’t be prouder of his brother he wondered if the middle Racer knew what he was getting into.

Pole position was situated on a jetty coming out of the water that would cross the island. He suspected that his position close to the front was partially due to his notoriety but he wasn’t thinking about that.

His gaze went to the Mach 6, outfitted with the special grip tires and design. Speed looked angry, Speed looked anxious, and most importantly he looked ready to loose.

Some instinct that Racer X had hoped was long dead welled up in him as he walked past the car, “Be careful kid.”

He’d only meant to sound encouraging, perhaps offering some friendly advice from an experienced Racer to one just starting out. Fuji was difficult for pros.

Speed stared at him like he’d grown horns, “…Thanks.”

Something in his tone made X bristle, “Pros have trouble with this track kid. Start out slow or you’re going to crash-gun it on the ellipses.”

“I can’t start out slow if I want to win.” Speed’s voice was blunt. He blinked at his competitor, “…Thanks though.”

Thanks though, here meaning nice try. So you want me to loose? Good luck.

X shook his head. No patience, the lack of which would get him killed. He strapped himself in behind the wheel as a smiling kitty face (Those crazy Japanese) counted them down to zero.
More flies with honey. Patience was the key. He’d had to learn it the hard way, the same way that his competitors were learning right in front of him.

He weaved through the first ellipse, not a true loop but an inverted spiral.

“Ooo! And there go the Ye-Chen team along with the Three Roses!”

“Pros have said it before and I’ll say it again Joe. You gun it for the Ellipses. You’ve got to go really fast to keep on those turns.”

“And there go the Jetty Officials to collect the Kwik-Save bubbles…”

The world behind him was bathed in fire. He half expected to see a bubble bouncing past with bits of the Mach 6 clinging to it. To his shock, the Mach 6 sped past him with Speed gripping the wheel. The determined look on his face made X laugh.

You’ve got the Devil’s luck kid. He did not allow himself to entertain the possibility that Speed had heeded his advice. He could not afford that sort of hope.
----------

Fuji was a three-part race.

The Ellipses out of the lake were part one. The race through the forest was part two and the spiral out over the volcanic part of the island was part three. You got no rest and were uncomfortably aware of the stares of the crowd around you. Fuji had been a military proving ground before the WRL had converted it to a racetrack. You had only to look at some of the tracks to imagine the supersonic bots that various countries had once used to wage war speeding along the track.

It was a pity he couldn’t enjoy it. Once upon a time he would have loved to have made it this far, the potential to race on the Grand Prix track in Mifune Stadium his highest goal.

That had admittedly been his price. He’d never told anyone about it. The inspector knew but let it slide because he’d been young and green. Secret Agents with all access WRL passes could do as they pleased.

The Grand Prix was not the challenge he’d hoped. Neither was this. The lust was gone, the dream dead. Better to keep it for Speed and those like him who wanted to live the thrill.

He had other thrills, other pastimes.

He spotted his target, one of the remaining three roses cars. The three roses were on the payroll of Skull Duggery, one of his more notorious enemies.

They were coming up out of the forest into the “rising from the water” loops. He closed his eyes for half a heartbeat, allowing himself to adjust for speed, feet moving fast across the pedals. One of the other drivers caught him driving eyes closed-he allowed himself a smirk as he heard the man’s car explode.

It was easy to sense when people were looking at you.

He gunned the engine and flipped on his radio.

“Speed Racer is gunning for the lead, only two cars remain between speed and first place-“

“This race is in the bag Joe! I’ve never seen anything like this kid!”

Racer X smirked. Nothing like this kid?

He could hear Minx’s voice in his head Heaven forbid Rex Racer that I step on your ego.

Why? He shifted out of second and into third, the shooting star pulling up the track away from the last two spots. I can take it.

No you can’t.

He shook his head and twisted the car sideways. Leaping over the last two mountaintops-she knocked the three-roses car off the track before he spun to the side again-backing up two feet before he whirled around to the front.

“…The Harbinger of boom makes his mark! A trail of carnage and destruction...”

He turned the radio off.

Speed was coming into the last loop, closing in on the leader. X knew the Gray Ghost passing well, a hell of a Racer who had been dragged kicking and screaming into this new age of Corporate WRL racing. Ben Burns himself had trained him.

This would be interesting. The Ghost swerved as the two danced, Mach Six and Gray cousin spinning like lovers at a disco. He pulled up on the throttle, worrying about getting out alive from the spiral when he saw the Ye-Chen car behind him surge forward.

What the…

How the hell much had Duggery paid these guys? They were coming into a loop-he was really going to try something now?

X gunned the throttle, shifting from third into fourth. Whatever he tried he was going to have to do it fast. Could he knock Speed off the track? What the hell was he going to do then? The Star was outfitted with dozens of missiles, various means of defense but dammit the kid was going too fast and the WRL frowned on those sorts of defense…

He felt his chest empty when he saw the Mach 6 come out of the spiral. One more and Speed would win. One more and he could get that Ye-chen fucker and Speed would qualify for the Prix-one more-

The Mach 6 shuddered.

He knew that shudder. He’d seen it plenty of times. Admittedly, he’d used it himself-but only in pursuit of justice, never during a race. Never that was the lowest of the low the vilest of the vile. In a world that was built on Speed and its competition cheating was reviled.

Scum cheated. Makes sense, the Ye-Chen are scum.

He felt the car protest, screaming that she couldn’t go this fast. He ignored her-The ye-chen car was pulling the Mach 6 along with her like a disobedient child. Any minute now they were going into the final spiral and the sheer force of the two cars locked together would send both into a spin they couldn’t recover from…

His heart leapt into his throat as he saw the secondary shutter-that of the spear hook retracting. In the momentary lapse of control Speed wavered, struggling with the engine-

Speed! Don’t speed up! Slow down, shift to second and hit the break after activating your tire crampons-

The advice fell on deaf ears. The mach five spun, bouncing down the track like a broken hot wheels car. The Ye-Chen car moved on.

Everything disappeared in those moments, all of his anonymity, all of his promises not to get involved. He slowed the star, running to the edge of the track-ignoring the lack of footing that he had (Humans didn’t walk on these tracks-they had no traction of any sort.

“Speed!”

The lost Kwik-Save pods floated on the water like pearls, like floating pebbles. He spotted a gold one, the jetties moving out to collect them.

He ignored the officials congratulating him for finishing the Race (that was the way it was, Finishing Fuji was an accomplishment in itself)

Inspector Detector wore a flowered lei and a Hawaiian shirt underneath his suit. The atmosphere of Fuji had clearly affected his normally impressive professional exterior. He caught X at the Officials entrance, holding him back as the drivers from the Kwik Save Pods were escorted in.

“Speed-“

“He’s fine.”

X contemplated shoving off his boss and pushing him to the ground. Fuji was a fucking deathtrap-why the hell didn’t anyone understand that? No one understood that patience was needed so they risked their lives for what? For this stupid fucking game?

He spotted a kid dripping gold wearing white with a familiar Red M on the exterior. He flinched when a hand caught his shoulder.

“He’ll see you staring like that.”

Let him see. X stood up straight; Let him see his older brother be concerned for him. Let me hug the kid and thank god for his devil’s luck-

He drew in a deep breath.

Before I break his fucking neck.

Speed Racer spotted Inspector Detector at one of the exits. He had his hand across Racer X’s chest, the man staring at him as if they were still competing. As family enveloped him, his eyes met the mysterious masked racer’s face. A chill went through him before he lost himself in his mother’s arms.
------------

They were having coffee, a common past time of Federal Officials. Racer X scratched the back of his neck, playing the role of millionaire playboy and winking at various waitresses. Inspector Detector hadn’t said a word beyond the occasional question about the Race.

He stirred his tea, “…The Togokahns have agreed to talk to us.”

That was a pleasant surprise. X turned, sipping at his coffee, “Great. That’s Great.” Apparently his talk with Taejo had paid off, “…Guess the kid decided to stand up and be a man.”

“Mm.”

His fingers moved methodically, stirring the tea as X nodded mutely, “When are you going to sit him down and question him?”

Inspector Detector said nothing. A holographic seagull alighted on the edge of the balcony they were sitting at. A sea breeze played with X’s hair as he studied his superior, “…Lou? When are you going to sit the kid down?”

“Togokhan has a condition to his agreeing to testify.” He breathed deep, “He has explained to me his reasons for trying to take on the cartels in the first place.”

There were only two reasons that you did that. Because you wanted to do the right thing…or because you wanted a bigger piece of the pie.

X sincerely hoped it was the latter, “…What condition?”

“…The last race of the season is coming up. Taejo thinks that he can win it-his primary concern.” Inspector Detector leaned back “Is his father’s company. Royalton is going to buy them out and deliver them to Mushida Motorworks within the week but-if Togokhan stock goes up before then…”

X frowned, “…He’s asking us to commit a WRL violation? We’re playing on their turf now?”

“Sometimes you have to do things that you don’t want to do to accomplish things-to get results.” Detector stared at him over the rims of his glasses, “You know that better then anyone.”

Causing crashes and playing with people’s lives were two completely different things. You could survive a crash; you could not survive having all of your worldly possessions stripped away.

“…What’s the Race.”

He knew. It was the last race of the season, the one race he’d never finished.

Inspector Detector said nothing. He asked for the check in French, voice polite as he folded his napkin across his lap and closed his eyes with a sigh.

“What’s the Race Inspector.”

“You’re going to make me say it?”

It was X’s turn to be silent. His hand closed into a fist, “…He wants me?”

“…Yes.” The inspector’s voice was mild, “…Which I think would be a good thing. Doctor Fox recommended you getting closer.”

X was about to reply that he had promptly recommended that Doctor Matthew Fox take a long walk off a short fucking pier into a tank full of man-eating fish. He was interrupted however by the Inspector’s grim expression, “…You and Speed.”

No. It was the final straw. He felt like he was back on the spiral watching Speed bounce away into the gloom, “Absolutely not.”

“He won’t race without the both of you.”

X slammed his hands on the table, startling a group of people eating nearby. A heavyset blond snorted at him, clearly a little worse for wear on the wine. He walked out, hands in his pockets as he crossed the veranda inlaid with ferns and vines.

“…X!”

The Inspector stood in front of him, “…It’s hard-I know-“

No you don’t. “You have no idea.”

“…Royalton is one of the reasons why you had to go underground Rex.”

X flinched. No one used his name in public, so brazenly, so…so…

“…He was one of the reasons. The bounty on your head son-“ The man who had become a sort of step father put a hand on his shoulder-expression pained when Rex Racer shoved his hand away, “…We bring Royalton down we are a step closer to helping people like you go home. Helping reunite daughters with mothers, fathers with sons…making the world safer. You told me that was all you wanted to do.”

He was right of course. The Inspector had a way of being right pretty regularly. The sea breeze no longer seemed as pleasant, the occasional taste of salt and sand making him think of a very different beach where a very different officer had made a very different deal.

Or perhaps, not so different.

“You have to ask him to his face.”

The Inspector nodded, “I wouldn’t dream of doing it otherwise.”

“And if he says no that’s it. We get Royalton some other way and the Togokahns can fuck themselves do you hear me?”

A waitress brushed by, smiling at them both-practiced-fake-before moving out among the tables.

“…I need to hear you say it Lou otherwise I’m out. Now. Not only that, but I’ll turn in my badge.”

“…Do you think he’ll disagree?”

The question was so nonchalant, so out of place that X had to smile. His look was extremely pained, the weight of the world crushing on his shoulders, “…No. He’ll agree.”

“Why are you so sure?”

Because he’s a racer. Because Pops raised us to do the right thing no matter what the consequences. Because I know my brother, and I know that he’s enough like me that he won’t leave the track until every enemy is gone and he can cross the finish line in peace.

Not for the first time, Inspector Louis Detector wondered at the lineage of the man in front of him. He pictured the first Racers breeding horses to race in settings that rivaled Ben Hur to modern times so different-or perhaps not so different after all.

“…They lost one son to this fight Lou.” X said, “…I don’t want them to loose another one all right?”

Inspector Louis Detector put a hand on his shoulder, “…I will do everything in my power to make sure that is not the case Rex.”

For all the things that you have done for justice and all the things you have yet to do, for all that people like you have done.

“…I give you my word.”

X managed a nod, a barely perceived nod as he stalked off into the gloom. Inspector Louis Detector allowed himself a moment to watch the sun shining so brightly with the silhouette of Fuji a distant monster looming over the mountains like trouble on the horizon of his mind.

Mon, 09 Jun 2008 22:21:07 GMT

Title: Joyride
Fandom: Iron Man
Characters/Pairings: Tony/Pepper, Tony Stark, Pepper Potts, Agent Coulson, various NPCs.
Rating: G to PG for some innuendo.
Summary: Tony Stark decides to take a little joyride and ends up reliving his youth and his favorite cartoon show-Speed Racer.
Notes: It seems to me like Tony’d be a Speed Racer Fan. Mechanics, cars that fly- all sorts of things that billionaire boy geniuses can get behind right? Absolutely!

And of course, with all of Ramen’s fics, the game of “Can you spot the Meta?” is in full effect.

Tony Stark was trying not to hum.

Trying not to enjoy the attention that he was currently being afforded. Ever since outing himself as Iron Man it was clear that he wouldn’t get any privacy-so why not enjoy it? Going out in public was an adventure to say the least.

He allowed himself a smile.

A smile no one saw as the commuters along the San Diego Freeway did their best to keep their eyes on the road and on the sky at the same time.

He picked a car at random, a silver Lexus with a blond woman who could almost be hot if not for the perpetual stick up her ass.

“Jarvis?”

“Sir.”

“Let’s go in close.”

He fancied he could feel the AI’s disgust as he adjusted course and blew past the Silver Lexus with his hands out wide. Buzzing cars was the biggest thrill he’d discovered since-since-

Well, Since racing them.

The woman screamed and swerved, nearly knocking into a grumpy looking girl-the complete opposite of the woman in the Lexus. The second driver leaned out her window, shaking a fist and screaming at him.

“What’s she saying?”

Jarvis turned on the external speakers.

“…I’VE GOT FIVE POUNDS OF CHICKEN IN THE TRUNK YOU SONNUVABITCH! WATCH WHERE YOU’RE FLYING IRON MAN! SOME OF US HAVE TO WORK FOR A LIVING!”

That was a slap across Tony Stark’s face that he refused to tolerate. He checked his speed, ignoring Jarvis’s warnings as he zoomed beside the car, “…Hey, I work for a living! I work damn hard for a living! Can you build a suit like this?”

The driver screamed and switched lanes-thankfully into an empty area. She hit the gas-the engine roaring away.

“…She needs her car greased and oiled-probably a tune up in the undercarriage the way it was scraping along the road.”

“Sir…”

Tony took flight again, following above the cars and waving whenever he caught people staring, “I mean, really, can you blame me for wanting to have a little fun? “

“SIR!”

“…Wha-“

Something familiar and motorcycle shaped was weaving in and out of traffic, ignoring the curious stares from pedestrians who checked their speed.

“…Jarvis, can you be ticketed by the CHP when you’re flying?”

“California Penal Code states-“

“Okay, forget the penal code, let’s uh…let’s settle this later.” He gunned the turbos, “…Like back at home.”

The leisurely pace he took was apparently more then enough for the motorcycle cop who was doing his damndest to match him. Stark found himself looking down as the young cop sped after him.

“Jarvis?”

“…That’s Officer Downey Sir.” Jarvis piped up, “…Six years on the force, two as a motorcycle police officer. He has an excellent record and has…well until recently never lost a suspect.”

“…. I was going to ask if you’d put on something good for racing but now I think I’m looking into where you suddenly got Mind-Reading powers.” Stark blinked, “…Since when can you read what you think are my thoughts?”

“Sir, I recommend we slow down and allow officer Downey to keep his perfect record.”

Stark pictured what coulson would say.

“…Jarvis?”

“Why does this sound like another attempt to run sir?”

“…Some appropriate racing music.”

The speed racer theme song filled Tony Stark’s world. He’d been a fan if only because there were cars and they did crazy things like flying, leaping into the air with blades attached. The idea of an actual Mach 5 crossed his subconscious and flitted away when the police siren once again reached his ears.

Another time.

The music pounded into him, “Jarvis, let’s lower our altitude?”

“Sir, I wouldn’t recommend that. Probability that Officer Downey will catch us or manage a shot-“

“Jarvis, I’m in bulletproof armor and I happen to be Genius. I am fully aware of the statistical advantage I have over this man. Now. LOWER.”

The dip in the altitude ran over the armor, cool fingers and bright sun through the lenses filters. He spun (rather gracefully), dodging a pickup full of interested Mexican men as he threw them a wave.

Downey put on speed and Tony grinned, “…Let’s take it up a notch. Jarvis?”

“Sir.”

“Go Speed Racer-“ His hand stretched out in front of him, “GO!”
--------------

OFFICER Robert Downey had seen many things during his tenure on the police force. They numbered from the ludicrous to the strange, the bizarre to the mundane.

Nothing like what he was seeing now.

When he’d first pegged the flying metal man committing a major traffic violation he’d done a double take-after hearing on the radio that it was billionaire Tony Stark, the self proclaimed Iron Man out for a little joy ride…

Not in my town partner.

He remembered gunning his motorcycle and being fully aware that going this fast was incredibly dangerous. He wove in and out of traffic and counted on Californian’s inborn fear of men on motorcycles wearing khaki to keep him safe.

When the psychopath had jumped in front of a truck full of laborers and waved at them casually that was the final straw.

Okay Iron Man. Let’s see how well you drive.

He hadn’t counted on the souls of the man’s feet lighting up. He hadn’t counted on his hands lighting up. For a brief moment, Tony Stark glowed like the sun.

Nor had he counted on the rocket man accelerating just like the old movie, just like those serials of the nineteen forties-nearly throwing cars aside like toys as he jetted out of there. The impact was lessened-Stark took to the air as he vanished-a pinpoint of light on the horizon.

Downey pulled to the side of the highway and stared after the retreating billionaire turned superhero. He shook his head, “…Damn.”

Several people took the opportunity to gun engines themselves, hapless patrolman staring helplessly at the sky above him.
----------

“Da Da Dum-Da da daum dum…He’s a demon on wheels. He’s a demon and he’s going to be chasing after someone…”

“…Mr. Stark?”

Tony Stark could have sworn his artificial heart skipped a beat. Pepper Potts stood in the doorway, orange hair curled in ringlets over her shoulders. Tony rose, setting aside blueprints for his own personal Mach 5 (The idea had grabbed hold and wouldn’t let go.)

“Miss Potts.”

“What are you doing?” She crossed the workshop floor two steps at a time, studying him.

Embarrassed, he held the papers out for her to see, “…Something that’ll make some fat sad sack incredibly thrilled. You ever watch Speed Racer?”

Pepper frowned, “…That cartoon show-“

“Yeah, “Go speed racer, go speed racer-“ that show. Anyway, I was out yesterday and ended up playing the song on random and…got inspired.”

“You got inspired to build a car from a TV show.”

Her arms were folded across her chest, “…C’mon now, after all we’ve done and been through together-that’s-hell that’s almost normal for me these days.”

“That cartoon show…”

“Yeah, he solved crimes and they all had these great Mod inspired clothes. Best thing Japan ever did for the world apart from the Hibachi converter.” He pushed the papers away, “…What’s on your mind Miss Potts?”

Pepper tilted her head to the side, looking at the designs, “…He drove a car? Speed Racer?”

Tony wondered where she was going, “…Hence the theme song.”

“…What’d he do? Was it just the Japanese version of NASCAR?” She flipped over a page, intrigued, “…I mean, just a guy racing?”

“Well he solved crimes and such.” Tony said, “…And he wasn’t in the habit of saying very much about his intended goal except the most basic information. Something I respected him for.”

“…Wasn’t that due to poor budget on the show’s part?” Pepper peered at the design, “Are you going to paint it like the actual car?”

“Maybe.”

“What, no Red and Gold?”

“…You’ve never shown much interest in what colors I like to use before.” She was hiding something, “…What, did you want one?”

Pepper favored him with the sexiest smile he’d ever seen and he found his mouth opening and closing, “…Y’know.”

Somehow words were still coming form him.

“…Y’know, Trixie was Speed’s Girlfriend? And she had a helicopter. I could build you one of those-give you lessons in how to fly it. Seems more your speed. I bet you’d love to fly.”

“…Maybe I’d like to fly with you.”

Okay, That was a little too close to home, “…Pepper…”

“…The next time you incite the City of San Diego to a near riot.” She dropped the paper in front of him. The Tagline to the Union Tribune blared across the front-black and white for all to see. BILLIONAIRE JOYRIDE

His eyes closed, “…Pepper-“

“Sir, not to be rude…” Jarvis’s voice trailed off, “There are some men at the door who’d like to speak to you.”

“I’m not at home.”

“They seem quite insistent sir.”

“I’ll handle it.” Pepper stood up, moving quickly out of the room and ignoring his imploring gaze after her. He straightened, opening the paper to a front-page photograph. Startling color-iron man waving at a truck filled with men. Someone was a damn good photographer.

He noted the man’s name and promised to hire him away from the Union Tribune as he scanned the rest of the article. Ninety percent of the people had been amused but there was some damage-one of the cars had tipped over.

No one was hurt. Thank god.

“…All in all, San Diegans were given a major treat today as Billionaire Tony Stark soared over the skies of Miramar…” He’d been testing his long-range flight capabilities-truth be told-but it was nice to get some good press out of it.

He’d auction off the Mach 5 to benefit those people. Ooops. My bad.

“…Tony?”

Pepper’s voice filtered into the workshop, “…I’ll be right up.”

His good will evaporated when he realized that the man Pepper had invited in was the District Attorney of San Diego. It got even worse when he saw whom he’d brought along. Agent coulson did not look amused to be back in Tony Stark’s presence.

He offered them a lopsided grin, “…Have either of you seen Speed Racer?”

They both shook their heads. Stark sighed, taking a seat. This was going to be a long day. Teach me not to buzz random cities.

He’d buzz Burbank next time.

ten_themes table.

Thu, 05 Jun 2008 23:36:12 GMT

01.	Teacher	02.	Doctor
03.	Artist	04.	Lawyer
05.	Cop	06.	Fire Fighter
07.	Builder	08.	Soldier
09.	Escort	10.	Athlete

</center>

Original, Daemonfic

Thu, 05 Jun 2008 17:16:44 GMT

Title: Deliberations Prt 1 [1/4]
Notations: Original/HDM (His Dark Materials)
Disclaimer: The concept of Daemons belongs to Phillip Pullman. The characters and the story contained in are original.
Summary: A court case for Bruce Baker hits very close to home.
Notes: ...I like daemons. alot. I like fic with them and sometimes applying it to fictional universes works and sometimes...

In short, I don't know where this came from, but it came in four parts with possibly more about the people involved. If it makes you feel better, consider it futurefic from Lyra's universe.

...Very futurefic. Very futurefic. Written in the same universe as It'll all work out in the end and Fillibuster

Court, of any sort and any kind is not something that people want to do regularly.

It wasn’t something that Bruce Baker wanted to be doing today, and certainly not something that Isis- perched precariously on his lap wanted to watch. No sun but the artificial light around them-the majority of the court rooms in the San Diego Municipal Courthouse were either underground or buried in the recesses of the building. The dark side to building too much in a too-small part of the massive city you call home.

“I hate this.”

They speak in the language that men and souls speak, joined together by something unearthly and strange.

“…This isn’t a picnic for me either.” Isis ruffles her feathers, startling Juror number six sitting next to him. The cheetah tries for the third time to curl up, but squeezing twelve people and twelve different animals of varying sizes into a box not big enough for the twelve initial humans doesn’t leave much room for sleeping.

Besides, he can’t sleep. Isis throws him a dirty look and sits up a little straighter. Bruce sighed, she took this way too seriously-especially after pointing out that Justice’s daemon-wings spread on her shoulder-was a goose.

He could hear the mechanic and the jackal trading quiet voices behind him. They were twelve with only the briefest of introductions, called to sit and judge a major case. Isis remembered their names, he remembered their animals, goose (of course), cheetah, emperor penguin, German Shepard, Norwegian Elkhound, chimpanzee, pheasant, Hawk, Jackal, Gibbons monkey, Grasshopper, Firefly, and of course the Spider who sat primly on Juror number nine’s shoulder and watched mutely. She was their foreperson, expected to direct their proceedings.

Isis nipped at his fingers, ignoring the spasm that went through him as the Cheetah and the girl shot him a dirty look.

“Juror five?”

The Judge’s lemur stared at them with wide eyes.

“…Sorry your honor. I uh…must have dozed off.”

Clearly the wrong thing to say. Bruce was suddenly aware of eleven pairs of eyes watching him as the Judge rolled her eyes, “Try to stay awake hmm? Council?”

The Prosecutor’s eyes were closed, massaging away a tension headache. His wolf was glaring at them all, pale gold eyes winking in the artificial light. The defense’s swan ruffled her feathers, staying as close as she could to the Anaconda curled atop the table. They’d been warned about that. “It’s a technique.” The Prosecutor said, “They’re going to try and get you to sympathize with them by showing you how close their daemons are.”

…In truth, the swan did look a little anxious, but Bruce felt that it might have been his imagination. Pretty creature, probably the reason why the defense-after casting her gaze over the jury, suddenly looked so fetching…

“What the hell are you doing?” Isis was almost screaming, “Dozing off?”

“I was thinking.”

“Think about something else! Something important!”

Bruce tried to focus on the case. Bullets. They were discussing bullets and ballistics. Apparently the man sitting at the table (a US marine, lord knew how he went into battle with that big fucking snake) shot his girlfriend and his best friend who he’d shot because he was trying to protect her. The game was that he, in trying to save the woman he loved from being raped, shot them both-one on purpose-one by mistake. They were pleading diminished capacity (whatever that meant)

The Prosecutor had presented very compelling evidence that the guy was pissed and shot them both because he was angry. Very angry. If Bruce hadn’t been reminded dozens of times to be objective he would have automatically assumed that the bastard was guilty. Hell, if he caught Sharon with another man, Reese’s paws on another daemon whatever his shape…

No. Objectivity. That was the key. He closes his eyes and wills himself to remember, ignoring the jostling by his foot as the cheetah tries to switch positions again.
---------

Cross-examination of a witness makes him sit up and take notice. The witness, clearly taking offense commits a major social error. Her bush baby starts to scream-provoking the swan to swirl up from her position.

“Objection!”

The wolf is on her feet as the prosecution points, “Badgering the Witness your honor.”

“Goes to motive your honor!” The swan practically barks. The loud honk disrupts all concerned.

“That doesn’t go to motive.” Juror Six leans close to Bruce, “You see that Swan go for that fuckin’ Monkey?”

“Councilor. Control your daemon for god sake or I’ll hold you in contempt. Objection sustained.”

“Your honor!” The defense didn’t look nearly so attractive trying to defend herself. Swans were scary fucking creatures-he’d almost forgotten that. Bruce felt his hands tighten on Isis who compacted her neck, staring out at the world with dead black eyes.

Someone in the crowd roars as the monkey leaps for the swan. The Defense goes down as the Prosecutor leaps the table to try and help her. The bailiffs move in like attack dogs, their daemons moving to hold down the monkey as the witness screams.

“He did it! That piece of shit did it! He killed my sister! He killed my sister! -“

“Jury will disregard the witnesses statements-“

“He killed her!” She turns and Bruce felts her eyes meet his, “He killed her! Please! Don’t let him off! Convict him!”

“Your honor-“ The Defense is bleeding from a cut to her head, “Mistrial?” She’s holding her swan tightly against her chest.

“Oh Jesus.” Bruce can’t tell if it’s the wolf or the prosecutor who snarls. They are helping their colleague across the aisle to her feet, “…Not again…”

“My Chambers council. Now. The Jury is dismissed.”

Bruce feels his stomach clench. The woman had a right to be angry, but the biggest faux pas anyone could make was to actually show it. To bury it down deep, leaving your daemon twitching and raw. It made people go mad.

Bruce, Juror Five, Felt mad as he watched the prisoner being led out of the courtroom. That faux pas, showing emotion through the creatures that walked beside you. The man was cold, face a stony mask but he swore-he could almost see that snake around his neck smile.
-----------

“What it comes down to is this.” The Prosecutor looks noble, regal. Bruce wonders if he brushes his daemon’s hair, making sure the image is absolutely perfect, “The provisions for loosing control in court are clear. We are making an exception in this case and asking you to disregard what occurred.

The Jackal speaks for him, mechanic leaning back in his seat. The words are his, “…Disregard such an impassioned plea for justice?”

“Justice is what you met out.” The Prosecutor said. He nodded mutely, “…It’s your job to hear all the facts. Like it or not, Corporal Richards has a right to have his side of the story told.”

Cue shock. Isis leans in close to Bruce, “…Did he just admit this guy might be innocent?’

“No. He’s being fair.”

Fairness is new, fairness is bold. Fairness is something that Bruce Baker never thought he’d encounter. My god, television was lie-all lawyers weren’t scheming jerks. His eyes go to the defense attorney, hair in a ponytail beneath an attractive bandage, “…If any of you feel biased by what occurred say so now and we will replace you with an alternate.”

Cheetah traded nervous glances with the girl. A grasshopper and a Spider quietly conversed; The German Shepard stifled a yawn.

“Say something.”

Isis nips at his fingers, he ignores it. He thinks of the look in the girl’s eyes, of his own feelings.

“Bruce!”

“…Weren’t you the one that said that Geese had a sacred right to judge fair and equally?”

Isis snorted, “That was before I realized that we’re way too close to this.” Close for reasons he couldn’t begin to think about, couldn’t bring himself to consider,

“This is your last chance.” The Prosecutor said, “…We’ll resume-we’re almost to closing arguments. We want-“

His gaze goes to the defense attorney. Bruce wonders what they talked about, what they are thinking about.

“…We want this to be fair.”

No hands go up. No voices are raised.

The trial goes as planned. Closing arguments, Bruce thinks-are especially eloquent. The Swan was all grace and the wolf all nobility. Seemingly all predators and prey, two creatures who had to come out with one on top.

“It is up to you.” The Wolf says, “It is up to you to give the victims families the justice that they deserve. No amount of pain and suffering will bring the dead back. We do not have that power. We have the power to bring their souls rest, to bring them peace. Find this man guilty ladies and gentlemen, exercise this power that you have, he deserves it.”

The knowledge sinks him in his gut. His stomach churns. Now it was time to deliberate-and he thought he could sense the first twitch in Isis’s normally calm white and orange façade.