quiet_tiger (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
quiet_tiger) wrote2011-03-07 09:30 pm
quiet_tiger) wrote2011-03-07 09:30 pm
Ficlet: Out of the Rain, Into the Hail
Title: Out of the Rain, Into the Hail
Author: Quiet Tiger
Universe: General
Genre: Drama
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: OC, Joker, Harley
Word Count: 1091
Warnings: Fade-to-black violence, mentions of torture
Summary: Escaping into the night doesn't go as planned.
Note: For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
batfic_contest theme "Perfect Crime."
~*~
The perfect crime.
Okay, so maybe trespassing in an abandoned warehouse to get out of the rain wasn’t Ocean’s Eleven, but Blaine still felt accomplished. The lock had been fairly easy to pick, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t work.
He found a small room full of boxes and sat on one to rest his feet. Running away from home was looking like a dumb idea now, but he’d been angry and home had been stupid. He knew once he dried off a little and ate something, he’d feel better. His late dinner consisted of a candy bar stolen from a pharmacy; that had also been a smoothly executed crime.
That, or the clerks had more to worry about than a missing Snickers bar.
Blaine chewed slowly, trying to buy a little time while he thought about where to go once the rain stopped. There had to be something fun to do in Gotham in the middle of the night. He could pass for older than twenty-one when he needed to. And knew how to get into places where he couldn’t. He had skills. He was a master of getting his way.
He was feeling pretty invincible right now.
But then he heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps.
There was nowhere to hide, and nowhere to run. He was going to get caught by the watchman or whoever the hell it was doing patrols or whatever.
But the gaunt figure that came through the door was much, much worse.
“Harley! Get the fly swatter! We have a pest!”
Blaine tried to make himself invisible as the Joker loomed in the doorway. “What are you doing here, getting crumbs on my teddy bears? Or did I answer my own query? You came here to make a mess and then leave in the night?” Before Blaine could formulate an answer, the Joker continued, “If you can explain yourself, you will be free to leave.”
“I—I was just—”
“Too late.”
Just then the Joker’s girlfriend—or whatever she was—burst into the room with a gigantic novelty fly swatter. “Here it is, Mistah J! Oh, he’s a big one!” She swiped at Blaine with the thing, making him fall off the box.
“Harley, stop that! I have something else in mind for him.” The insane glint in the Joker’s otherwise dead eyes terrified Blaine. He read headlines periodically. Headlines involving the Joker always also included words like killed, dead, maimed, or disfigured.
Any feelings of invincibility were long since quashed.
“So tell me, house pest, how long have you been on the run?”
“On the run?”
The Joker waved his hands in dismissal. “Teen boy, middle of the night, seemingly abandoned warehouse… You’ve either run away from home or, with that black hair, you’re training to be the next Robin.” The Joker’s eyes widened with joy. “Harley! Get the dress-up box!”
After clapping her hands with glee, Harley sprang from the room, once more leaving Blaine alone with the Joker. The pale face and garish grin made him want to throw up his Snickers bar, but he was trying to think of a plan. Could he take him? He was so thin, and wearing those slippery dress shoes…
Just as he started to think of jumping up and shoving him over and running, the Joker grabbed his neck and squeezed. “Don’t think about it. At least with my plan, you’ll be alive a little longer. You run from me and you’ll be dead before you reach the door.”
So what was better, running and dying, or living and experiencing whatever the Joker had planned?
The choice was wrenched away from Blaine by the reappearance of Harley, who brandished a green leotard and red shirt at him. Then he realized there was an eye mask dangling from her finger. She gave him a quick once over before saying, “I’m not sure it’s gonna fit, Puddin’. He’s a little taller than we’ve imagined.”
“Then cut off his feet, Harley! How many times do I have to spell things out for you?” Turning back to Blaine, he exclaimed, “Women! Can’t live with ‘em, can’t kill ‘em. Um… Well, of course you can. Whatever. You know what comes now.”
Blaine had no effing idea what came now, other than he was pretty sure it involved him wearing the fake Robin costume. Just what the hell was Joker doing with that, anyway? “No I don’t.”
The Joker frowned. “You’re slower than Harley, and that’s saying quite a lot. No matter. I’ll do it for you.”
The last thing Blaine saw was the Joker reach for the flower pinned to his lapel, and the acid squirting out of it and into his eyes.
~*~
“Oh, Harley, the children of the night, what sweet music they make!” Gurgling choking noises counted as music. “What a pleasant evening this turned out to be. Here I was resigned to watching a rerun of Killer Klowns from Outer Space, and then he shows up!” He glanced over to the runaway, who was chained to the wall and leaking blood. “To think he’d just be sitting there, looking so much like a lost Robin, a lost bird for the taking!”
“He’s a cutie, Mistah J. The shackles really bring out his eyes, too.”
It was glorious. The runaway was roughly the size of the original Robin, and the improvised costume was so similar to it… If only it were possible to capture the real Robin and not have Batman find him!
But he always did, no matter how perfect the abduction was. As soon as Joker really got down to having fun with the boy—but not in that way, surely not—there he’d be in all his cape-and-Kevlar glory. Not that he didn’t want Batman around, of course he did, but he always showed up too soon. Joker wanted to learn what made the Robins tick, why they became Robin and stayed Robin and survived for so long when he himself didn’t intervene.
What made Batman keep them?
And while the runaway wasn’t the real Robin, he was the right age and size and now Joker had a control group. All the better to get closer to the Bat-clan, to the Bat and his family.
With no repercussions. No one was looking for the boy, least of all Batman, and anyone who was searching wouldn’t check out this warehouse for some time. By then Joker and Harley would be long gone.
Kidnapping and torture without the kidnapping and the inevitable interruption.
Perfect.
Author: Quiet Tiger
Universe: General
Genre: Drama
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: OC, Joker, Harley
Word Count: 1091
Warnings: Fade-to-black violence, mentions of torture
Summary: Escaping into the night doesn't go as planned.
Note: For
batfic_contest theme "Perfect Crime."~*~
The perfect crime.
Okay, so maybe trespassing in an abandoned warehouse to get out of the rain wasn’t Ocean’s Eleven, but Blaine still felt accomplished. The lock had been fairly easy to pick, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t work.
He found a small room full of boxes and sat on one to rest his feet. Running away from home was looking like a dumb idea now, but he’d been angry and home had been stupid. He knew once he dried off a little and ate something, he’d feel better. His late dinner consisted of a candy bar stolen from a pharmacy; that had also been a smoothly executed crime.
That, or the clerks had more to worry about than a missing Snickers bar.
Blaine chewed slowly, trying to buy a little time while he thought about where to go once the rain stopped. There had to be something fun to do in Gotham in the middle of the night. He could pass for older than twenty-one when he needed to. And knew how to get into places where he couldn’t. He had skills. He was a master of getting his way.
He was feeling pretty invincible right now.
But then he heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps.
There was nowhere to hide, and nowhere to run. He was going to get caught by the watchman or whoever the hell it was doing patrols or whatever.
But the gaunt figure that came through the door was much, much worse.
“Harley! Get the fly swatter! We have a pest!”
Blaine tried to make himself invisible as the Joker loomed in the doorway. “What are you doing here, getting crumbs on my teddy bears? Or did I answer my own query? You came here to make a mess and then leave in the night?” Before Blaine could formulate an answer, the Joker continued, “If you can explain yourself, you will be free to leave.”
“I—I was just—”
“Too late.”
Just then the Joker’s girlfriend—or whatever she was—burst into the room with a gigantic novelty fly swatter. “Here it is, Mistah J! Oh, he’s a big one!” She swiped at Blaine with the thing, making him fall off the box.
“Harley, stop that! I have something else in mind for him.” The insane glint in the Joker’s otherwise dead eyes terrified Blaine. He read headlines periodically. Headlines involving the Joker always also included words like killed, dead, maimed, or disfigured.
Any feelings of invincibility were long since quashed.
“So tell me, house pest, how long have you been on the run?”
“On the run?”
The Joker waved his hands in dismissal. “Teen boy, middle of the night, seemingly abandoned warehouse… You’ve either run away from home or, with that black hair, you’re training to be the next Robin.” The Joker’s eyes widened with joy. “Harley! Get the dress-up box!”
After clapping her hands with glee, Harley sprang from the room, once more leaving Blaine alone with the Joker. The pale face and garish grin made him want to throw up his Snickers bar, but he was trying to think of a plan. Could he take him? He was so thin, and wearing those slippery dress shoes…
Just as he started to think of jumping up and shoving him over and running, the Joker grabbed his neck and squeezed. “Don’t think about it. At least with my plan, you’ll be alive a little longer. You run from me and you’ll be dead before you reach the door.”
So what was better, running and dying, or living and experiencing whatever the Joker had planned?
The choice was wrenched away from Blaine by the reappearance of Harley, who brandished a green leotard and red shirt at him. Then he realized there was an eye mask dangling from her finger. She gave him a quick once over before saying, “I’m not sure it’s gonna fit, Puddin’. He’s a little taller than we’ve imagined.”
“Then cut off his feet, Harley! How many times do I have to spell things out for you?” Turning back to Blaine, he exclaimed, “Women! Can’t live with ‘em, can’t kill ‘em. Um… Well, of course you can. Whatever. You know what comes now.”
Blaine had no effing idea what came now, other than he was pretty sure it involved him wearing the fake Robin costume. Just what the hell was Joker doing with that, anyway? “No I don’t.”
The Joker frowned. “You’re slower than Harley, and that’s saying quite a lot. No matter. I’ll do it for you.”
The last thing Blaine saw was the Joker reach for the flower pinned to his lapel, and the acid squirting out of it and into his eyes.
~*~
“Oh, Harley, the children of the night, what sweet music they make!” Gurgling choking noises counted as music. “What a pleasant evening this turned out to be. Here I was resigned to watching a rerun of Killer Klowns from Outer Space, and then he shows up!” He glanced over to the runaway, who was chained to the wall and leaking blood. “To think he’d just be sitting there, looking so much like a lost Robin, a lost bird for the taking!”
“He’s a cutie, Mistah J. The shackles really bring out his eyes, too.”
It was glorious. The runaway was roughly the size of the original Robin, and the improvised costume was so similar to it… If only it were possible to capture the real Robin and not have Batman find him!
But he always did, no matter how perfect the abduction was. As soon as Joker really got down to having fun with the boy—but not in that way, surely not—there he’d be in all his cape-and-Kevlar glory. Not that he didn’t want Batman around, of course he did, but he always showed up too soon. Joker wanted to learn what made the Robins tick, why they became Robin and stayed Robin and survived for so long when he himself didn’t intervene.
What made Batman keep them?
And while the runaway wasn’t the real Robin, he was the right age and size and now Joker had a control group. All the better to get closer to the Bat-clan, to the Bat and his family.
With no repercussions. No one was looking for the boy, least of all Batman, and anyone who was searching wouldn’t check out this warehouse for some time. By then Joker and Harley would be long gone.
Kidnapping and torture without the kidnapping and the inevitable interruption.
Perfect.