Batfic. By way of the ghost of Amanda McKittrick Ros
So, some here may know of my absolute love affair with the writing of Amanda McKittrick Ros. Others will be saying "Who?". Wikipedia is only sort of your friend, since they don't actually have excerpts. I wrote about her this summer though, when I first heard of her.
And tonight I was watching Frank Miller's batman get ripped apart, and stared at the writing and joked I didn't know who was more unintentionally hilarious now, McKittrick Ros, or him. (I actually say she still wins, hands down.)
But this did start something. I do not generally give in and WRITE the fanfic whenever I think "OH THERE HAS TO BE THIS FANFIC STAT!" But tonight I did at least start it.
So here is Amanda McKittrick Ros' "Batman All Stars". Or at least a beginning to it. I may try to get further into this in my spare time, and I also welcome- nay, urge- anyone else with lots of spare time and a good vocabulary to build on it if they desire, and let me know where they've got it stashed so I can read and giggle and compile.
****
Chapter I, Vicki Vale (if you were here earlier, yep, I did get started, still gotta get further.):
Silvered sensuously by sleek skyscrapers surrounding a storied flat, sizable windows ignored and unfettered by the lace that silken, shadows skin, a shamelessly sordid and voluptuous Vicki Vale venally voices a dictation, inelegant entendres echoing emptily to compare cities via the views offered of various men. Central to her mind, the man of steel, another society's savior, desired over the dismal display she feels is found in her home- a Batman, being she calls boring and boorish for the beast he models such a persona from. But she deliciously delves into desire for another as well, more local and lusty, Bruce Wayne a wayward woman's wonderful goal.
Chapter II, The Circus
Giddily the guys and gals of the new Gomorrah, Gotham City, gazed at the gallant Graysons as gravity gave gleeful and glorious way before them. But in the circus's circles of captivation and carefully cultivated dangers, lurked lowlifes amidst the lovers and families from the full stands. A masculine master of more malicious murders than most could 'magine in the worst of their morbid nightmares, clinging to shadows, silenced by the sonics perpetuated by cheers, a gleam of terrible metal that in a moment the man moved up and fired, the percussives and palls of chemical smoke lost, as the cries of those becoming aware of the wrongness of the act as aerialists are seen to accelerate downwards, mere mortal shells as life is snuffed away o'er the rings, their surviving son staring shocked, salty tears slow to emerge from eyes that watch, watch as those who nurtured him and sheltered him are cruelly wrested away, witnesses once to a violent man's deeds and thus becoming marked for the foul ending seen now.
But one masculine epitome within the throng, surely none other than the millionaire, master of merriment amidst the many movers and shakers, societal elites in sleek suits and slithering salacious sequined gowns with plunges and pearls, moved e'en as the lost youth's first tears welled in clear eyes and before the full frolic of fellow audience became a panic, leaving alone the lovely lady, aghast in her seat, to find his own shadows and space to shed the suit of the socialite and stop the shooter, sudden, even as the awful and sinister representative of ruin smirked, amused, thinking himself safely away.
EDIT:
I am realizing as I reread what snippets I have of her that I'm really not doing so well. I need to strive to make things a bit more bizarrely metaphorical on top of the alliterations. Ah well.
And tonight I was watching Frank Miller's batman get ripped apart, and stared at the writing and joked I didn't know who was more unintentionally hilarious now, McKittrick Ros, or him. (I actually say she still wins, hands down.)
But this did start something. I do not generally give in and WRITE the fanfic whenever I think "OH THERE HAS TO BE THIS FANFIC STAT!" But tonight I did at least start it.
So here is Amanda McKittrick Ros' "Batman All Stars". Or at least a beginning to it. I may try to get further into this in my spare time, and I also welcome- nay, urge- anyone else with lots of spare time and a good vocabulary to build on it if they desire, and let me know where they've got it stashed so I can read and giggle and compile.
****
Chapter I, Vicki Vale (if you were here earlier, yep, I did get started, still gotta get further.):
Silvered sensuously by sleek skyscrapers surrounding a storied flat, sizable windows ignored and unfettered by the lace that silken, shadows skin, a shamelessly sordid and voluptuous Vicki Vale venally voices a dictation, inelegant entendres echoing emptily to compare cities via the views offered of various men. Central to her mind, the man of steel, another society's savior, desired over the dismal display she feels is found in her home- a Batman, being she calls boring and boorish for the beast he models such a persona from. But she deliciously delves into desire for another as well, more local and lusty, Bruce Wayne a wayward woman's wonderful goal.
Chapter II, The Circus
Giddily the guys and gals of the new Gomorrah, Gotham City, gazed at the gallant Graysons as gravity gave gleeful and glorious way before them. But in the circus's circles of captivation and carefully cultivated dangers, lurked lowlifes amidst the lovers and families from the full stands. A masculine master of more malicious murders than most could 'magine in the worst of their morbid nightmares, clinging to shadows, silenced by the sonics perpetuated by cheers, a gleam of terrible metal that in a moment the man moved up and fired, the percussives and palls of chemical smoke lost, as the cries of those becoming aware of the wrongness of the act as aerialists are seen to accelerate downwards, mere mortal shells as life is snuffed away o'er the rings, their surviving son staring shocked, salty tears slow to emerge from eyes that watch, watch as those who nurtured him and sheltered him are cruelly wrested away, witnesses once to a violent man's deeds and thus becoming marked for the foul ending seen now.
But one masculine epitome within the throng, surely none other than the millionaire, master of merriment amidst the many movers and shakers, societal elites in sleek suits and slithering salacious sequined gowns with plunges and pearls, moved e'en as the lost youth's first tears welled in clear eyes and before the full frolic of fellow audience became a panic, leaving alone the lovely lady, aghast in her seat, to find his own shadows and space to shed the suit of the socialite and stop the shooter, sudden, even as the awful and sinister representative of ruin smirked, amused, thinking himself safely away.
EDIT:
I am realizing as I reread what snippets I have of her that I'm really not doing so well. I need to strive to make things a bit more bizarrely metaphorical on top of the alliterations. Ah well.