Brought to you by the letter P.
Er...here I am. *pose*
chameleongirl79 gave my small fic a push in this direction and though I haven't lately had any contact with our beloved Mary for so long, the theme, I suppose, could be applied. What with the birds and the bats and the not-so-great feelings. When I first heard about this I didn't think this was "crack"ed enough.
I do hope you're feeling up to par soon, Mary.
Everything save for the comment above is the same. I'm unoriginal and sleepy. I'm sorry.
Title: Some Days Aren't Special
Author: Greysnyper
Fandom: Batman: Gotham Knights
Timeframe: On or around Detective Comics #796
Rating: PG
Summary: Good enough to end a sentence with.
Theodore P. Harty (the P is for Petar) is a murderer of children. Just the other night the man--who is listed in Batman's files as working consistantly alone--struck the North End Gotham Orphanage and seven kids were left crippled, four dead and eighteen others wounded. Theodore P. Harty is here right now, and Batman is already making his face meet the floor. Again and again. And then five more times.
Theodore P. Harty (the P is for Phillip) is an immigrant worker who has been in Gotham City for decades. One of the many hard luck cases, Theodore made himself a name (if by name, one means an American pseudonym, turning his back on his past life and culture) but failed to make a mark in the city or a dollar for his name. Theodore lost everything in a string of bad luck and swindlings, retaining only one item by the end. A gun. And one certain night many years ago, Theodore decided to turn his luck around by taking a watch and breaking some pearls in an alley. After all, it happens all the time. Theodore gets away, yet another John Doe of unsolved crime. That is, until Batman finds him. For some reason, Batman isn't playing nice tonight. Theodore P. Harty's head bounces off of the rock wall like a rubber ball.
Theodore P. Harty (the P is for Paul, a good saintly name) is insane. He calls himself something else, but if his given name is ever remembered, he likes to introduce himself as "Theo". It sounds a lot better than a ruddy tugboat name, anyhow. Nobody else knows this though, for the few who find out don't live to tell it. Theo likes the silence if he's the only one laughing. Theo likes the name when it's revealed, for he imagines that people don't really think of him as a "Theo". Sometimes, Batman wonders if the worthless little secret had been shared with one Jason Todd. A 'now now, we're on intimate terms here...' while a white hand fingers a crowbar. Theodore P. Harty's skull breaks like an egg, Batman still not stopping. Not until Theo is quiet.
Theodore P. Harty (the P is for Made in Pakistan) is a dummy. Batman leaves it alone, finally dropping the item and observing the shattered head and the various dents and false bruises. Scraping the body along the cave multiple times leaves its mark.
"By all means, continue," Robin states, leaning against a stalagmite. "Don't let my arrival interrupt."
Batman longs to be holding Theodore, still. That way, at least, he could drop the dummy once more as an effect. Robin's missed the entire point.
"You were supposed to interrupt."
Robin hums, crossing her arms.
If Batman could, he would drop Theodore again. The subtle hints, though, are apparently not going to be enough tonight. "I was beating him to death."
"I noticed," Robin answers. "Remind me to stay on your good side."
The cowl doesn't allow Batman to rub at his eyes. "We don't kill," he sounds out. "But sometimes it's known for one of us to push at that line. We take things personally. You have to watch out for that and intervene."
Robin is quiet for a moment, and Batman hopes that she's caught on to the gravity of the lesson. When she speaks again, it is with complete frankness. "If you, Batman, want to go completely out to lunch on someone, do you really think I'm going to be capable of stopping you?"
There's attitude, there. There's Bruce realizing that this Robin had come to him for very different reasons. "That's not the point!" he exclaims, rising from the ground and now towering over poor Theodore. "Batman needs a Robin, and he needs a Robin who's going to try."
"I am trying," Robin points out, never once giving up her spot against the rock. She speaks hard and fast. Heated. "But I can't make you do anything you don't want to do. And isn't brutality your middle name? If killing is wrong, then isn't senselessly beating someone for info wrong, too? Seriosly, Boss, do you want me speaking up everytime you play bad cop with the criminals, because that's like, every day!"
Batman folds his arms, thinking of Kal's stated opinion on Batman's "policing". "You need to learn the difference," Batman says, finally. "Killing is wrong."
"I know," Robin sighs. "That's your golden rule, and I've never killed anybody and I never will." She drags a gauntlet up to her headband. "And believe me or not, I know the difference, too. But on days when it feels like God's punched me in the womb, you know what, I'll only be shoving you off of a guy so that I can get in some kicks. Just...augh."
Perplexed, Batman goes, "pardon?"
Robin does successfully rub at her eyes, bringing her glove down to the line of the mask. "Your detective skills are seriously overrated, Sir." She gestures. "I get it, okay? Don't let you beat up on people. But right now, you're only going mad on some toy."
"It's...you're having your..."
"Yeah," Robin snorts. "It's stupid, I know. I bet you never had to deal with Tim having, well, mood swings."
Batman takes in a breath, dragging it. "No, I can't say I have. Is this all that's bothering you?"
Pushing closer into the stalagmite, Robin shakes her head. "No. I...yes. It's all that's bothering me. Can I have a time out to think about everything, or do you want me to watch you beat up the toy again while I feed you lines of 'no, stop, wait, I'll tell Alfred on you'?"
It's the most awkward end to a lesson to date. "Go."
Batman is impressed with how quickly Robin takes advantage of her leave, springing up from the rising collumn of cave and taking to the shadows in the direction of the showers and the stairs instantly.
There is something else, and Robin's not coy enough to hide it. Giving Theodore a final shove with his boot, Batman guesses that it is likely about Tim. The Boy Wonder who wasn't, anymore. Maybe not to Steph or to Robin.
Batman can't decide if he's regretful or not.
The computer is waiting for him, and this includes Oracle.
"Wow," Barbara grins. "Did she let you off with a warning?"
"Pardon?" asks Batman, finding and settling into the groove in his chair. He finds a strand of golden hair dangling off of the arm of the seat. "Oh. She's talked to you."
Barbara rolls her eyes. "You leave me here to oversee her training, and that means I get to listen to a lot of whining, too. I learn things, believe it or not. Has Alfred installed the necessary things in the shower room?"
"I...don't know," Batman answers. He feels like he should, though. Already, he's starting to suspect that this is going to be one of the rare conversations where Oracle lords it over him.
"Alfred's smart," Barbara murmurs as video shows her now focused on something out of Batman's line of sight. "He's probably on top of it."
"Trouble?" Batman asks, noting Gordon's distracted tone.
"Not for you," comes his answer, as Barbara glances back. "Unless Robin's the sort who's moody the week prior to, and during, those special girl occasions."
This time, Batman does take off the cowl, pressing his fingers up the bridge of his nose.
"You used to stock me full of chocolate, if you'll recall." She is smirking. "And it won't hurt to tell Robin that she's pretty, or doing good, every now and again."
If only for himself, Batman reiterates, "I'll never understand why I let girls into the cave." PMS is going to ruin his image.
"You've finally learned something all real boys eventually learn," Barbara says, poking at the screen. "I'm so proud of you."
Batman turns off the screen.
chameleongirl79 gave my small fic a push in this direction and though I haven't lately had any contact with our beloved Mary for so long, the theme, I suppose, could be applied. What with the birds and the bats and the not-so-great feelings. When I first heard about this I didn't think this was "crack"ed enough.
I do hope you're feeling up to par soon, Mary.
Everything save for the comment above is the same. I'm unoriginal and sleepy. I'm sorry.
Title: Some Days Aren't Special
Author: Greysnyper
Fandom: Batman: Gotham Knights
Timeframe: On or around Detective Comics #796
Rating: PG
Summary: Good enough to end a sentence with.
Theodore P. Harty (the P is for Petar) is a murderer of children. Just the other night the man--who is listed in Batman's files as working consistantly alone--struck the North End Gotham Orphanage and seven kids were left crippled, four dead and eighteen others wounded. Theodore P. Harty is here right now, and Batman is already making his face meet the floor. Again and again. And then five more times.
Theodore P. Harty (the P is for Phillip) is an immigrant worker who has been in Gotham City for decades. One of the many hard luck cases, Theodore made himself a name (if by name, one means an American pseudonym, turning his back on his past life and culture) but failed to make a mark in the city or a dollar for his name. Theodore lost everything in a string of bad luck and swindlings, retaining only one item by the end. A gun. And one certain night many years ago, Theodore decided to turn his luck around by taking a watch and breaking some pearls in an alley. After all, it happens all the time. Theodore gets away, yet another John Doe of unsolved crime. That is, until Batman finds him. For some reason, Batman isn't playing nice tonight. Theodore P. Harty's head bounces off of the rock wall like a rubber ball.
Theodore P. Harty (the P is for Paul, a good saintly name) is insane. He calls himself something else, but if his given name is ever remembered, he likes to introduce himself as "Theo". It sounds a lot better than a ruddy tugboat name, anyhow. Nobody else knows this though, for the few who find out don't live to tell it. Theo likes the silence if he's the only one laughing. Theo likes the name when it's revealed, for he imagines that people don't really think of him as a "Theo". Sometimes, Batman wonders if the worthless little secret had been shared with one Jason Todd. A 'now now, we're on intimate terms here...' while a white hand fingers a crowbar. Theodore P. Harty's skull breaks like an egg, Batman still not stopping. Not until Theo is quiet.
Theodore P. Harty (the P is for Made in Pakistan) is a dummy. Batman leaves it alone, finally dropping the item and observing the shattered head and the various dents and false bruises. Scraping the body along the cave multiple times leaves its mark.
"By all means, continue," Robin states, leaning against a stalagmite. "Don't let my arrival interrupt."
Batman longs to be holding Theodore, still. That way, at least, he could drop the dummy once more as an effect. Robin's missed the entire point.
"You were supposed to interrupt."
Robin hums, crossing her arms.
If Batman could, he would drop Theodore again. The subtle hints, though, are apparently not going to be enough tonight. "I was beating him to death."
"I noticed," Robin answers. "Remind me to stay on your good side."
The cowl doesn't allow Batman to rub at his eyes. "We don't kill," he sounds out. "But sometimes it's known for one of us to push at that line. We take things personally. You have to watch out for that and intervene."
Robin is quiet for a moment, and Batman hopes that she's caught on to the gravity of the lesson. When she speaks again, it is with complete frankness. "If you, Batman, want to go completely out to lunch on someone, do you really think I'm going to be capable of stopping you?"
There's attitude, there. There's Bruce realizing that this Robin had come to him for very different reasons. "That's not the point!" he exclaims, rising from the ground and now towering over poor Theodore. "Batman needs a Robin, and he needs a Robin who's going to try."
"I am trying," Robin points out, never once giving up her spot against the rock. She speaks hard and fast. Heated. "But I can't make you do anything you don't want to do. And isn't brutality your middle name? If killing is wrong, then isn't senselessly beating someone for info wrong, too? Seriosly, Boss, do you want me speaking up everytime you play bad cop with the criminals, because that's like, every day!"
Batman folds his arms, thinking of Kal's stated opinion on Batman's "policing". "You need to learn the difference," Batman says, finally. "Killing is wrong."
"I know," Robin sighs. "That's your golden rule, and I've never killed anybody and I never will." She drags a gauntlet up to her headband. "And believe me or not, I know the difference, too. But on days when it feels like God's punched me in the womb, you know what, I'll only be shoving you off of a guy so that I can get in some kicks. Just...augh."
Perplexed, Batman goes, "pardon?"
Robin does successfully rub at her eyes, bringing her glove down to the line of the mask. "Your detective skills are seriously overrated, Sir." She gestures. "I get it, okay? Don't let you beat up on people. But right now, you're only going mad on some toy."
"It's...you're having your..."
"Yeah," Robin snorts. "It's stupid, I know. I bet you never had to deal with Tim having, well, mood swings."
Batman takes in a breath, dragging it. "No, I can't say I have. Is this all that's bothering you?"
Pushing closer into the stalagmite, Robin shakes her head. "No. I...yes. It's all that's bothering me. Can I have a time out to think about everything, or do you want me to watch you beat up the toy again while I feed you lines of 'no, stop, wait, I'll tell Alfred on you'?"
It's the most awkward end to a lesson to date. "Go."
Batman is impressed with how quickly Robin takes advantage of her leave, springing up from the rising collumn of cave and taking to the shadows in the direction of the showers and the stairs instantly.
There is something else, and Robin's not coy enough to hide it. Giving Theodore a final shove with his boot, Batman guesses that it is likely about Tim. The Boy Wonder who wasn't, anymore. Maybe not to Steph or to Robin.
Batman can't decide if he's regretful or not.
The computer is waiting for him, and this includes Oracle.
"Wow," Barbara grins. "Did she let you off with a warning?"
"Pardon?" asks Batman, finding and settling into the groove in his chair. He finds a strand of golden hair dangling off of the arm of the seat. "Oh. She's talked to you."
Barbara rolls her eyes. "You leave me here to oversee her training, and that means I get to listen to a lot of whining, too. I learn things, believe it or not. Has Alfred installed the necessary things in the shower room?"
"I...don't know," Batman answers. He feels like he should, though. Already, he's starting to suspect that this is going to be one of the rare conversations where Oracle lords it over him.
"Alfred's smart," Barbara murmurs as video shows her now focused on something out of Batman's line of sight. "He's probably on top of it."
"Trouble?" Batman asks, noting Gordon's distracted tone.
"Not for you," comes his answer, as Barbara glances back. "Unless Robin's the sort who's moody the week prior to, and during, those special girl occasions."
This time, Batman does take off the cowl, pressing his fingers up the bridge of his nose.
"You used to stock me full of chocolate, if you'll recall." She is smirking. "And it won't hurt to tell Robin that she's pretty, or doing good, every now and again."
If only for himself, Batman reiterates, "I'll never understand why I let girls into the cave." PMS is going to ruin his image.
"You've finally learned something all real boys eventually learn," Barbara says, poking at the screen. "I'm so proud of you."
Batman turns off the screen.