THE CHARACTERS

Batman/Bruce Wayne

Height - 6 ft 2 inches

Hair: Black

Eyes: Blue

Skin: Medium.

Bruce, though tall, is *not* the hulking bemoth that you see in the animated series. He has muscles, yes, but his training is in martial arts. Therefore for him it is not so much how many muscles he has but how skilled he is in using them. He is, if you were to ask him, "strong enough".

When dressed as "Bruce Wayne" he favors looks that play the part for him - tailored business suits that suggest "rich" more than "sharp". He favors dark colors always and his hair his kept short and often slicked back. The look he is going for is one which does not draw attention to himself but does allow him to easily command a situation if he has to.

The Batsuit is black on grey on black. You can take your cue here from the TV show, specifically the later eps with Nightwing. And, just for the record, the little bat on his chest *is* meant as a target - he knows it and has reinforced it accordingly.

And, since this *is* a slash list, yes, ol' Brucy was circumcised as a kid.

Background: Who doesn't know this one by now? ;) Watched his parents be shot in front of him by Joe Chill (who is not the Joker btw) and dealt with the guilt by turning himself into the ultimate crime fighting machine.

General timeline: Aside from specific character histories I will always fall back on the timeline/history set in the animated series.

Associates:

Alfred Pennyworth: his parents' bulter and something of a surrogate father/friend/confident. Acts as something of Bruce's morality and touchstone with reality.

Harvey Dent: Former lover. Met not too long after Bruce returned to Gotham after his round the world trip to train himself. Liked what Harvey represented as a DA, feels incredibly guilty and tormented by what he's going through as Two-Face. Hopes to redeem Harvey some day in a manner that's not unlike Luke and Darth Vader. His soft spot for Harvey will always be his greatest weakness around Two-Face, something that even all the walls around his heart can't stop.

Selena Kyle/Catwoman: Potential lover. One of the few adults he can connect to and one of the few people he feels he could have an understanding with. There are too many games between them, though, for her to be truly trusted, though the temptation is undeniably there. Knows that Selena is Catwoman (and that she knows about him) and often finds himself having to be friendly and easy-going around her in social settings as Bruce Wayne while later that evening is engaged in tooth and claw battles with her as Batman.

Comm. Gordon: Another father figure in Bruce's life. Although he works to keep the mystery between them, secretly Bruce trusts him and hopes to help him in the way he never could with his late father.

The Joker: Bats' arch-nemesis and one of the few that truly poses a challenge to his detective skills. Always wants to bring the Joker down but always enjoys the challenge he presents and would probably miss it if it was gone.

Dick Greyson/Nightwing/Robin Mach 1: Batman and Bruce's partner - a word that has more meanings than can be counted. First decided to take care of Dick as another way of "fixing" the death of his (Bruce's) parents - a way that was "normal" and didn't involve hiding. However Dick's passion to go after the killer of the Flying Greysons was too similar to his own and, not knowing what else to do with the child, changed his plans to help show Dick how he could be a crimefighter just like him. Only problem was that Dick had a mind of his own and grew up far too quickly. Dick stopped being the young, impressionable boy that Bruce saved and turned into a hero in his own right - and a man who had his own ideas about where the relationship was going. Unable to cope with any emotion save his obsession with crime fighting Bruce retreated and ultimately ended up pushing Dick away. Bruce is now tormented between keeping Dick at a distance for his own good or reaching out to Dick for the sanity and salvation he represents.

Tim Drake/Robin Mach 2/Robin Take Two: Another young boy that Bruce saved when crime threatened the boy's parents. Met when Bruce and Dick had parted, Bruce took Tim under his wing when it became obvious the boy needed training and that there was no one else who would or could take care of him. Although it started as a way for Bruce to convince himself that, unlike with Dick, he could mentor a child "correctly" Tim now presents new challenges to Bruce, alternatively making Bruce want to retreat with his independance or become more of a father figure with his eagerness to learn and to the right thing. One thing is certain, though, Tim definitely bears the brunt of every mistake Bruce made with Dick. Bruce is far more possessive and close-minded around Tim than Dick ever saw. Whether this will serve to protect or harm Tim remains to be seen.

Batman: The true person. Bruce Wayne is the real mask - a false front that he puts on in order to interact with society and hide what Batman is doing. What Bruce does he doesn't give a hang about - what Batman feels/does is all that matters. However Batman was created with one specific purpose: to fight crime. It is his goal, his life, breath and reason for being. And he *can* live that life. The only problem is that there are others who have entered Batman's life and are now convincing him that perhaps this mission can be altered, perhaps it can include another if only he breaks his shields long enough to let them in and truly give himself a partner. The temptations - Catwoman, Nightwing, even Harvey (if he could be redeemed) - are all there, he just doesn't dare let himself think about it. And the one thing that none of them (as far as he is aware) realize is, as Kevin Conroy put it, the greatest fantasy of Batman's life isn't to be "normal" - it's to lock himself down in the cave and never come out again. Bruce Wayne, the non-existant person, doesn't matter anymore. The only real salvation left for Batman's soul is for Batman himself to somehow stop retreating and become more human.

Richard John Grayson/Nightwing

Hair - Black, slightly wavy, shoulder length. Curled eyelashes. Thin, arched eyebrows. Very little body hair. Light beard - probably would take 12-14 days to grow a decent mustache.

Eyes - Dark Brown (I know in the comics they are blue, but in the Animated Series, where Bruce's eyes are obviously meant to be blue, Dick's are brown.)

Straight nose

Strong jaw, high cheekbones

Perfect white teeth

Right-handed, but trained by Bruce to be ambidextrous

Left ear pierced

Height - 5'11 (or, depending on Bruce's height, he is around two inches shorter than Bruce)

Age - 23

Build - From the Animated Series. The product of some generations of aerialists and the traits that this would promote: Aerodynamic, acrobatic, hard but not bulky, Strong, flexible.

Voice - From the Animated Series (Loren Lester's Voice). Slightly higher than Bruce's, lower than Tim's. Indeterminate, All-American, White Bread and Mayonaise TV-Land accent.

Out of Costume, prefers casual clothing:jeans, t-shirt, work-out clothes. Has a tux for Wayne Foundation Galas and such. Wears flat shoes, no heels, for flexibility. Mostly gym shoes.

Doesn't drink alcohol.

*Ethnicity - (I don't know if this is cannon anywhere, to be honest, I got it fron Fan Fics I've read, but I like it) Claims to be American, or if pushed, Anglo-Saxon, but is actually Romany (Gypsy). (this next stuff I made up)

Romany Name - Rikardy Grygory
Parents - Ion and Malka Grygory

Some other members of Haley's Circus were Romany as well, but not related. Romany exist in almost every country so there are French Romany, Italian, German, Polish, etc. etc. But their language has a basic commonality.

Was called Di-Di by his parents, which led to Dick as his 'stage name'. They created stage names due to predjudice against Romany in many places and to elude some passport problems, using forged papers. His partents trained him to tell outsiders that his name was Dick Grayson, his parents John and Mary and that he was American. The forged papers backed all of this up, so that when he was taken in by Social Services, and eventually by Bruce, all of the legal and proper papers for this identity were in his parents's trailer.

He still knows the Romany language, his first language, which may slip out once in a while. He tells Bruce it is some sort of Circus-slang, like Carnies have.

Bruce, being the world's greatest detective, discover's Dick's origins, but agrees that it is best that he keep the Dick Grayson name and history. It is more non-descript, which is good for Robin, and also, if it were discoverd, they would have to go back to court to put everything to rights.

This whole thing doesn't affect the other characters or the RPG a whole lot, but I just think it's a cool underlayer to the character.

Aerialist wunderkind of his family's act, the Flying Graysons. First hit the spotlight age four. (Started lifelong tights fetish *grin*) Richard John Grayson

Age 9 - Haley's Circus and they Flying graysons hit Gotham. In attendance, billionaire playboy, Bruce Wayne. After performing a spectacular triple w/out net, Dicky's parents are killed by Tony Zocco, who is muscling in on the underworld dealings of Barnabas Haley, owner of Haley's Circus, a cover operation for his arms dealing.

(What else would Harvey want with a little two bit circus???)

Dick is taken into the custody of the Gotham Social Services and Child Welfare Agency. Conditions there are lessthan favorable and he decides to escape and run -away-back-home to the circus. UNFORTUNATELY, the Joker has decided to be active that night, which led Batman to be running along rooftops, himself. He sees siad child, convinces him not to run away and Bruce Wayne shows up the next day to make the boy his ward.

Three months later, Dick finds the BatCave and Robin the Boy Wonderthe first incarnation, also known as "Robin Classic" is born.

He makes all As, plays on school sports teams and runs around getting beat-up, kidnapped and fighting crime all night, being the prototype 'perfect child' obviously showing that somewhere along the line, he has found himself an EXTREMELY potent upper.

Until age sixteen.

Tension begins to develop between himself and Bruce; Father-Son Tension/Partner-Jr. Partner Tension/Sexual Tension.

At age 18, Dick leaves and goes to College, returning regulary to Wayne Manor and his role as Robin. He also meets up with the Titans at this point and spends some time on that team. Has his first male lover, Tempest.

Age 21 - Graduates College. Bruce is not there due to being occupied in beating up some thugs at the time. Dick decides he wants a life. Takes off for two years, wandering around the world learning martial arts, tribal combat and Ninja-like secrets of invisibility.

He returns without warning, all grown up, to see Tim, when he hears about "Robin's Return".

He has been Nightwing for at least six months in different cities here and there.

He has a loft somewhere in the general area of Gotham. He has developed a suit which flys, using the physics of hang gliding, and his loft is a maze of secret rooms and etc, like a small version of what Bruce did in Wayne Manor.

His daily activities and precise whereabouts are unknown.

He investigates and fights crime on his own and generally responds to the Bat Signal.

Okay, I know that this pulls a lot of other characters in. Don't worry, this is just a sketch. If you don't want to be in there, or especially to Laura, if the whole Bruce/Dick thing rings wrong, just post what you think. I am not married to it, by any means.

Timothy Drake/Robin Mach 2/Robin Redux

Hair - Black, tending to be a bit wild as Robin, a bit neater as Tim. Fairly short, conservative cut - typical 1940's boy's haircut - but long enough in the front that it falls into his face a lot. Thick black eyebrows, canted slightly, which gives him a perpetually mischievous look.

Dark brown eyes, as in the animated series. Pug nose. Crooked grin, fine straight teeth, but has a lot of fillings, from a diet of soda and candy while on his own. Ears a little larger than average, and the haircut makes them stick out, he thinks. Face still retains the roundness of early childhood, but is becoming more angular as he gets older, cheekbones and pointed chin becoming more prominent.

Age - 13

Left handed, but a switch-hitter - almost as good with his right.

Height - 4'10". Hasn't hit his growth spurt yet, which irritates him no end.

Build - Small for his age (see above), but thick build - not fat, just solid - and is wiry and agile, stronger than he looks. What he lacks in ability - which is not much - he makes up for with enthusiasm and sheer endurance. Most likely hyper-active; presently kept in check by a high level of physical activity, both through constant training sessions and patrols as Robin - along with careful monitoring of diet by Alfred.

Voice - still a child's voice, but a boyish tenor - definitely NOT soprano! Showing occasional signs of changing, and he actively works to make his voice sound deeper. Accent is street-tough, not quite crude, but not polished; frequently having his grammar corrected by Batman and Alfred.

Miscellaneous
Favorite phrases: "Bogus." "Cool." "Wow" "Whatever." "What do I have to do that for?" can be very cynical and sarcastic. Very apt to call villains by descriptive nick names, ie "Puke-Face" for Two-Face, "Laughing Boy" for Joker, etc. Has a tendency to speak before thinking, which often causes him trouble.

Would wear his Robin suit 24/7 if he could, but settles for jeans and tee shirts. HATES getting dressed up - always a battle to get him in a suit, or worse, a tux for Wayne Foundation affairs. Record for leaving a tie knotted properly: 5 minutes.

Favorite pastimes: Video games, playing on the computer, watching tv, reading comics, working out in the training room, hanging out with Dick at his loft, or with Alfred in the kitchen, or with Bruce wherever he can catch him.

Age: 12 Eyes: Blue Hair: Black Height: 4’ 10"

Father: Steven "Shifty" Drake, dead
Mother: Assumed dead

Thumbnail-profile: Streetwise, smart-mouthed, used to taking care of himself, left on his own from a fairly early age. Good at making quick getaways, better at five-finger-discount. While "Shifty" Drake is hardly a stellar parent, Tim does care for his father, but doesn’t want to follow him into a life of crime. Tim idolizes Batman & Robin, clips newspaper photos of them, follows their exploits, tries to emulate them. He found a Batarang left behind after one of their battles, and taught himself to use it.

"Shifty" Drake worked for Two Face, but ran afoul of his boss when Two Face planned to use a chemical weapon to kill the inhabitants of Gotham City. Drake, Sr. refused to cooperate, and disappeared, leaving Tim a brief note and a key. Left on his own completely, Tim managed to stay away from the police and the truant officer, but was eventually caught by Two Face. Two Face wanted the key that Shifty had left him, and once he had it, he planned to kill Tim.

Fortunately, Batman stepped in, and rescued Tim. Unfortunately, he sustained a serious injury in the process, and needed Tim’s help to get back to the Batcave. Of course, this presented a problem, since the ever-curious Tim made his way upstairs before Alfred could stop him, and discovered Batman’s identity. Deciding to keep the boy at Wayne Manor at least overnight, Batman set about to learn what he could of the boy’s father. It didn’t take long to find out that Drake, Sr., was a John Doe, found dead in Metropolis.

Before Tim’s fate could be decided, however, Two Face used the chemical weapon to hold Gotham City to ransom. Batman went out to deal with the problem. Tim wanted to help, but Batman refused to allow it. Tim was not happy about this, but as Alfred assured him, there was no arguing with Batman. Later, Tim liberated Robin’s old costume, and followed Batman out to try to stop Two Face. Batman is not thrilled to see him at first, but in the end, Tim is instrumental in stopping Two Face’s plan and saving Gotham City.

Reluctantly, Batman agrees to take on a new Robin, and begins training Tim to fill the role recently vacated by Dick Grayson. Dick showed up to welcome in the new Boy Wonder, and life at Wayne Manor would never be quite the same.

Two years and innumerable injuries later, Tim still idolizes Batman and Nightwing, but now it is tempered with large doses of reality. He no longer sees them as some sort of semi-mystical superhuman demi-gods; rather, he recognizes the humanity behind the masks, and knows first hand the characters of the men who wear them. He knows the hard work behind the image - the long, grueling hours of training, the sleepless nights, the bruises and cuts and broken bones, and above all, the selfless determination to serve the cause of justice. What was once infatuated fascination has been replaced by deep-rooted respect, admiration, and love.

Tim and Bruce
Accepting Bruce as a father figure was far harder than accepting Batman as his boss and mentor, but in the end, the results were the same. Fighting at Batman’s side had long been a dream of Tim’s, so accepting Batman’s rules was easy for Robin the Boy Wonder. Out of uniform, however, things were different. Accustomed to taking care of himself and answering to no one, Tim found Bruce’s hands-on, firm-but-kind parenting to be oppressive and hard to take. He soon learned that discussion was pointless once Bruce made up his mind; still, there was a rebellious, headstrong streak in Tim that compelled him to constantly push the envelope, and test his boundaries. It took some time, but eventually he came to understand that when Bruce said something was for his own good, he meant it - Robin trusted Batman with his life, and likewise, Tim knew that he could always rely on Bruce. He learned as well, that Bruce was not the most demonstrative guy in the world when it came to emotions; Tim came to understand that while Bruce seldom said anything, he loved Tim as much as Tim loved him.

Tim and Dick
Tim’s relationship with Dick came naturally; they bonded almost immediately, falling easily into the roles of older and younger brother. Having been raised in Wayne Manor, Dick knew first hand how frustrating life with Bruce could be. He could commiserate with Tim, and give him a much needed vent-valve, a sympathetic ear when the stress of living up to Bruce’s - and Batman’s - demanding expectations got to be too much. Dick could also be counted upon for more pleasant things, too - spontaneous trips to the movies, or the video arcade, zooming around Gotham City on Dick’s motorcycle, or just hanging out at Dick’s loft watching videos and eating the junk food he wasn’t allowed at home. Tim found that he could talk to Dick about anything, however personal or trivial, and be assured that Dick would listen with genuine interest, and if asked, give realistic, useful advice. Likewise, Dick often used Tim as a sounding board, a confidant he could trust completely with even the most intimate problems.

Tim is fiercely devoted to both Bruce and Dick, and would gladly take a bullet for either of them.

Tim and school
Tim is extremely bright, but he is not the student Dick was; this is not from any lack of intelligence, but more from a lack of interest. How can algebra hold a candle when compared with chasing criminals around Gotham? Still, he is a at least an average student, and could be above average if motivated. He knows that Bruce wants him to work harder at school - more importantly, he knows Batman insists upon it - and to this end he has begun to work harder at his studies, but his tendencies to underachievement remain a sore subject between him and his guardian.

School presents other problems, too, in the eagle eyes of watchful teachers; fighting crime is rough work, and bruises and scrapes are part of the package. Very early on, questions of abuse and neglect were raised. This caused Tim a great deal of anxiety, fear that he’d be taken away from Bruce’s care. Not only would this destroy the home he’d found, and the family, but would also mean the end of his career as Robin. Fortunately, Bruce found a way to allay the fears of the school officials.

Aside from his extra curricular activities, Tim is a pretty normal twelve year old boy, with the normal interests and urges of boys his age. He is beginning to manifest an interest in girls, but has not written off boys, either, preferring to keep an open mind.

Selena Kyle/Catwoman

Height - Fairly average, 5'7"ish

Weight - You expect a lady to tell? Very HWP - more solid than she looks, since most of it is muscle.

Age - Probable late twenties but unknown.

Right handed

Eyes - Greenish blue, tending to shift with her mood (ie, very blue when she's angry, not so much otherwise)

Hair - Golden blonde, short cut in a stylish way with a bit of bangs. Naturally wavy.

Selena isn't stacked like a playboy bunny, but she's certainly not lacking. She can do a low cut dress justice and her figure is hourglassish without being overblown. Very muscular, but in a sleek ("catlike") way. ;) Pale skinned - her lifestyle isn't much of one for spending time on the beach. Heart shaped face with high cheekbones, a slight tilt to the corners of her eyes. Pert nose and expressive mouth. Teeth are even but not entirely perfect. Her nails are kept usefully short but rather sharp. Selena is very graceful when she moves (just keep thinking cats, ok?)

Her voice is low and smooth, though strong emotion can put a rumble in it. She has the hint of an unidentifiable accent - enough to make it slightly exotic without telling what it is or where she got it from. Her speech is what you would expect of a society girl - not as polished as you'd get from an Oxford grad, but passable. She has a keen wit (she calls it sharpening her claws on things).

Selena is a bit of a mystery. Appearing on the Gotham social scene several years ago, much of her past is more or less unknown. To the Gotham tabloids she has been a darling - not fabulously wealthy but certainly well enough off to allow her access to the jetset class. She has been seen often enough on the arm of millionaire playboy Bruce Wayne that while the two are not an official couple there is a fair bit of speculation about them. She is known for being a force to be reckoned with in the animal activist world, using her wealth to back her up. The source of her wealth is assumed to be inherited, her education and family unknown - when asked where she lived before Gotham, she has told the press anything from New York to Paris.

NOTE: While Batman is aware of who Selena is, he has kept the information to himself in favor of securing a promise of good behavior from her and keeping an eye on her. Catwoman's identity is not known to the public or the press.

To those who know her well enough to know of her night time activities, it can be speculated that she probably grew up in the bottom middle to actual lower class. She has become a master catburgler simply because it was a quick and easy way to take what she wanted - and because it was fun. She thrives on the adrenaline of the act and the puzzle of cracking open a security system. She isn't a killer, though she won't hesitate at physical violence if it comes to that. She is, first and foremost, a thief. Her daytime activities with the wealthy of Gotham provide her with plenty of close proximity to their valuables, the better to be able to relieve them of the things later.

Catwoman is a loner. She is drawn to Batman (whom she is well aware is Bruce Wayne) but it's the same thing that draws her to breaking and entering - the thrill of the chase and the adrenaline of the danger. She is wary of the Joker, prefering to keep as far as distance between them as possible. For the other criminal elements of Gotham she holds herself aloof - she can play their games, but prefers not to. Organized crime doesn't hold nearly the attraction that the grace of silent midnight theft does.

Physically: Attractive without being overblown, Selena is in prime physical condition and stronger than she looks. She wears her blonde hair short in a stylish cut and, when out of costume, uses the latest fashion to advantage.

In costume, Selena is a shadow in black leather. The costume in question is taken from the Catwoman series - cowl mask with ears and whiskers, and worked seamlessly into the back of the cowl is a luxurious tumble of very real black curls, giving the impression that Catwoman is actually a long haired brunette. Boots are thigh-high and slipped down one of them is her trademark bullwhip, with which she is an expert. Gloves contain retractable metal claws, and the costume sports a lightweight tail that gives a good illusion of catlike mobility.

Companion: Isis is a sleek black cat of more than usual intelligence, very devoted to her mistress. Isis is also a trained cat burgler (literally) and often assists in heists.

Trademark: Catwoman is drawn to cats, and vice versa. Large or small, cats will recognize the Catwoman as one of their own and treat her accordingly. She, likewise, while equally protective of all animals, holds a very near and dear spot in her heart for cats. She lives with a great many of them, though Isis is the only one who will accompany her on her jaunts.

The Joker

Height: about 6 feet 3 inches

Weight: roughly 198 pounds (it's hard to get him to stay put)

Eye Color: A deep, unnatural green tinged with violet near the pupil. His eyes are set back in his skull giving him dark shadows around his eyes that he knows how to manipulate with lighting techniques.

Hair Color: A deep green, about the same as his eyes but shoulder length and trimmed unevely, sometimes held back with a rubber band or in a hat. Well brushed and fairly thick when he first breaks out of Arkham, though as time goes by his hair becomes less and less well-kept, becoming a tousled mess. Sometimes he cuts it shourt, but for now I like it long. (BTW... hair is green eveywhere, even on belly and genitals. No hair on his back or hands!)

Skin, Face, ect: a bleached white, finger and toenails are a deep green same as eyes and hair, so he often wears gloves to cover this. His cheekbones are set high in his face, and he is usually rather starved looking, particuarly in the facial area. Nose is fairly long but thin and almost aristocratic. Eyebrows are thin and well defined against his pale flesh. Arms and Legs are fairly well muscled, but certainly not overly so. He can run quite fast and deliver hard if not crippling blows, especially during adrenalin kicks. Lips are a deep red, and teeth are neat and white, but have a yellowish tinge against his even whiter face. Skin is fairly smooth but does retain the following scars: a 2 inch long scar along his side just above the left thigh, the faint remnants of claw-marks on his right shoulder near his back. All scar tissue is a grey color sue to his lack of skin coloration. These are from recent fights that happened before he broke out and out RPG begins. Both were acquired as he escaped from Arkham though he really pays them no mind.

Voice: Usually with a slight Irish accent, probably from living with his parents who must have been or Irish descent. His voice itself is rather a tenor, but can be a deep purr or a high-pitched shreik. It is assumed he at one time had acting lessons and perhaps even vocal training because of his adept abilities of voice manipulation. His voice is usually lilting, bouncing around with little intent as his madness decrees, though when he is focused he will speak in a fairly normal way unless excited. Tends to be quite hyper, racing from one end of a room to the other for no reason other than to look at a piece of paper or check on something unimportant. Hypnotism is something he read up on while in Arkham at one time, and he can drop his voice to the slow and measured pace of a practiced hypnotist with relative ease, lulling his victims or even guards into a blissful state of calm.

Relations:
Batman: Usually becomes highly agressive upon his entrance, as though slipping from one mask to another. Voice may become urgent and tinged with madness moreso than usual. Despises the man and everything he stands for, but also desires him on a certain level.

Robin (Tim): No real opinion. Dislikes him because of Batman but respects the kid more than any previous Robin. Still he would slaughter the child to hurt his enemy.

Nightwing: REALLY dislikes him, but would rather twist his mind than kill him because of the effect it would have on Batman. Has easily figured out NW is the first Robin, and remembers all those bad uns and tasteless dress coding.

Harley Quinn: Uncertain. On one hand, he cares for her and would kill any man or woman who dared to touch her in a loving or harmful way. She is the only one he doesn't mind allowing to run wild and attempt to kill him. But, on the other hand, he knows that to kill her would really blow Batman's mind since he thinks Joker cares for the woman. But it is nice to have someone worship him and clean his socks.

Two-Face: A rival and the butt of more than one joke, Joker enjoys using Harvey's past as a DA against the man. (See Gotham Adventures #1)

Poison Ivy: Perhaps it is around her that Joker acts the most normal, dropping most facades and acting as close to human as he can. He knows her toxins won't wok on him, and vice versa. Hence, they can come to a sort of agreement under most circumstances. It is only when Harley is called itno question do the two find themselves at each other's throats. Joker suspects sexual foul play behind his back, and... well... who can speak for Ivy?

The Joker alias UNKNOWN (presumably Jack Napier or Jason Repian)

Aliases: More aliases than you can shake an acid-coated stick at! Some that come to mind though are Mr. J. Columbine, H. A. Laughlin, Sir Reginald Harlequin, and Mr. Gensius among others. A lot of bad anagrams of his name are used as well, such as Joseph Kerr, but mostly just to annoy Batman and not for real secrecy.

Physical Description: Taken from a great web site I found long ago in the dear dim past: "Physically, the Joker is a tall, thin man, probably about six foot three. His skin is chalk-white, his hair and fingernails a dark green, his lips blood-red, his eyes (which are quite expressive, ranging from wide-eyedhilarity to the narrow slits of the predator) a dark purple. It is clear from all indications that the grotesque grin he usually wears is a product of his dementia, and is not, repeat _not_ a part of his mutilation … In terms of clothing, when not in disguise, the Joker tends to the flamboyant and "theme"-d clothing. Purple is a favorite, with long tails and long coats (to hide all those marvelous little toys, dontcha know?)are extensively used, as are colorful vests, shirts, trousers and shoes. The Joker is not a man who, in his private life, ascribes to what the rest of the world jokingly (of course) refers to as ‘taste’."

Powers: No superpowers to date (unless you count the uncanny ability to repeatedly cheat death), but the Joker is not one to be underestimated. He has time and again tackled various superheroes and put up a GOOD fight. He is very adept with chemicals, often creating his own poisons and toxins. A prime example of this is his infamous Joker-Venom which leaves the victim with a twisted grin on their faces. This poison can be delayed in its reaction time, administered through various implements (i.e.. on the tip of a cane or on a dollar bill), and may be administered as a gas, liquid, or powder.

The Joker is also highly insane. Because of this he often devises traps for Batman, his perceived 'father', that are maddeningly eccentric in nature and often has a clownish in appearance. He can create an arsenal of clown-based weapons in a matter of months that, surprisingly are capable of use. He is an expert actor, obviously with past training, and a master of disguise.

Although the Joker’s sexual preferences are up for question, it is obvious that he and Harleen Quinzel are lovers, and that he feels some attraction toward the elusive Batman. Doctors conclude him to be bisexual until further evidence is uncovered.

One more thing; the Joker has a seemingly supernatural aura about him that seems to belittle others. People in Gotham often tell "Joker Stories" to scare themselves and to keep small children under control (much like rural superstitions). This is only an example of how powerful his aura can be. Most other villains, and heroes, respect and fear him for his aura, reputation, and appearance. Because of his frightening reputation and large sums of money squirreled away in unknown places, the Joker is often accompanied by anywhere from two to thirty henchmen trained to perform various deeds. His plans are often theatrical in nature, being staged with precise timing yet with the flexibility of various loopholes for escape and impromptu purposes. The Joker has been responsible for hundreds of deaths in Gotham alone and should be considered armed and dangerous at all times.

History & Notes: "If I’m to have a past, I prefer it to be multiple choice!"

The Joker's true history is unknown, but what can be conjectured is a sad tale. Very little is known about his life as Jack Napier, if that really is his name, because he destroyed all of his old records long ago. Apparently, Jack Napier was married to a young woman named Jeannie. He loved her very much and badly wanted a good life for her. Naturally when she became pregnant he quit his job at the Ace Chemical Plant and attempted to become a comedian. He failed and was booed off the stage.

It was at this low point in his life that two men came to him offering a large sum of cash if only he would lead them through the Ace Chemical Plant to the Monarch Playing Card Company next door, which would be robbed. Feeling as though he deserved the extra cash, Jack agreed though he told them he would never steal anything again. It was just one night after all.

The morning before the crime was to take place, Jack's beloved wife was electrocuted and died. Jack felt there was no need to commit the crime, but the ruffians insisted and forced him into it. By the time they got to the plant and Jack was forced to wear a Red Hood, so no one could see his face said the thugs, Jack was severely depressed. He felt life was a waste and was on the verge of suicide.

The plan was a failure as the two thugs were shot during police gunfire. Jack ran helplessly and panicking through the maze-like hallways and catwalks of the chemical plant. He was on a catwalk running when the Batman leaped out in front of him. Jack panicked and leapt over the edge of the catwalk and into a vat of unknown chemicals.

Another version of this story consists of the Joker having been an expert hit man working for renown crime boss Salvator Valestra. Rumor abounds that it was he who murdered Carl Beaumont, but no real evidence for such a claim has been found. In this story as well, though, the Joker was a man who somehow fell, in the presence of the Batman, into a vat of strange chemicals.

When he was at last washed on shore, the Joker felt his face burning and gazed into his reflection in a puddle of water. What he saw would forever shatter his sanity. His hair was now a dark green, his face and body was an eerie white that almost seemed to glow, his eyes were a yellowish color although his irises were still green only a brighter shade that seemed to glow. Worst of all his mouth had been twisted into a hideous grin. "I look like an evil clown," was the last sane thought he had before sanity left him.

Naming himself the Joker after the Ace Chemical Plant in which he had been "made", he began a crime spree. First and foremost, he vowed to destroy the Batman whom he blames for his appearance and 'birth'. At times, Joker sees himself as a sort of Frankenstein's Monster doomed to destroy his maker who rejects him time and again. This can change, and he will feel as though no one in the world but he and Batman are real; like strange Nordic gods forever fighting. To Joker the hunt is always great fun and even if he is injured he pays it little mind. Usually his wounds heal at a surprisingly rapid rate, and pain seems to have little effect upon him other than "cramping his style".

A few years after becoming the Joker, and being repeatedly sent to Arkham Asylum, he meets Harleen Quinzel. Joker feels something for her since she resembles his long dead wife and begins to twist her mind to his purposes. Eventually she becomes his lover and willing partner in crime. Although she gets on his nerves at times, his feelings for her are twisted but undeniable. Still, though, she cannot replace Batman and the Joker will always toss Harley and anyone else aside for his enemy. A sexual attraction for Batman is suspected but no true proof has been presented.

Quotes: "oh YES! Fill the churches with dirty thoughts! Introduce honesty to the White House. Write Letters in dead languages to people you’ve never met! Paint filthy words on the foreheads of children! Burn your credit cards and wear high heels! Asylum doors stand open! Fill the suburbs with murder and rape! Divine MADNESS! Let there be ecstasy, ecstasy in the streets! Laugh and the world laughs with you!"

"Without Batman, crime has no punchline."

"Batman! Where are you? I set it all up so beautifully. It's all so perfect … so classic! So epic! This was supposed to be the moment of our deaths. I know you're out there somewhere … but you're supposed to be here … now … with me! Don't you love me anymore?"

Joker: "You ever wonder why it is I've never killed you?"
Batman: "No."
Joker: "I've been dying to tell you this for years … heeheeheehee. I've been letting you win. Kooky game, ain't it? I cause trouble; you catch me … if you win a round, there's gonna be a rematch, but if I win a round … PHHTT! KAPUT! Game over. And who wants that?"

"Killing time is the only crime I've never committed."

"In my dream, the world had suffered a terrible disaster. A black haze shut out the sun, and the darkness was alive with the moans and screams of wounded people. Suddenly, a small light glowed. A candle flickered into life, symbol of hope for millions. A single tiny candle, shining in the ugly dark. I laughed, and blew it out."

ALSO SEE:
INTERVIEW WITH THE PSYCHOPATH

Harvey "Two-Face" Dent

Former Gotham District Attorney

Bruce and he were best friends, dedicated to crime fighting, occasional lovers.

Harvey is well aware not only who Batman "is", but also that Bruce is the persona. Batman is the reality. This is why Two-Face constantly wishes to destroy Batman. To go after Bruce is to fight a shadow and he knows it.

Current psychology: The focus of his world is not destruction of property or material gain. It is one single thing: Kill Batman. Reason? Remember, they weren't just friends, they were lovers. But perhaps even more than that - they were comrades in arms, warriors in a self-proclaimed battle against evil in Gotham. Batman tried, but failed to protect Harvey from that evil. The twisted half of his brain takes this as only a jilted lover can. The rational side feels no emotion, and therefore can not comment on the actions, only the logic. Logically the theft of vast wealth and constant barrage of mayhem will keep the Bat busy and bug Bruce. Emotionally it's vastly satisfying to gratuitously blow stuff up, especially when one has a scarred heart as well as broken brain. But the end goal is not the satisfaction of megalomania - he is defined by Batman's death. He is based on pain and knows no mercy at all, only hatred or logic.

There is also no love lost between Two-Face and Ivy, though it does not rate as the obsession he has with Batman. He'll use Ivy if he must, but would prefer that she either sink into the ground or was simply dropped off the nearest convenient high-rise.

Physically: Left half scarred by acid, twisted by rage. Right half YUPPY SCUM. I'm not sure which is worse. The ultimate suit.

Token/Symbol: Two headed silver dollar, one half pristine, the other half scarred. He constantly fiddles with it, and will use it to help in decision making, but only when emotions and logic war with one another (ok, that's pretty often). Think of Spock and McCoy having a squabble, the coin acts as Kirk making an absolute decision. And, as fate dictates (and because he's honestly not able to reconcile the two halves of his brain at all) the outcome of the toss becomes law.

Motto: Two are better than one, but don't look for this one to team up with others. As he qualifies as a duo all on his own, expect him to work alone, at least in the beginning.

Obligatory Bimbettes: Sugar and Spice may make occasional cameos, but I doubt they'll play significant roles.

Poison Ivy/Pamela Lillian Isley

A brilliant botanist, Isley would have had a great career as a scientist if her student advisor and mentor hadn't been Dr. xxx [ACK! Forgot his name!], aka the Fluoronic Man. His experiments transformed her both physically and mentally. She's never quite forgiven him for that.

Powers:
Immunity to all poisons and diseases. This includes the "Clench" and Joker venom. (Acids might burn her for the first moment of contact, but her system swiftly neutralizes them.)

Generate poisons and antidotes. Ivy's biochemistry functions as a living chemical factory. She can deliver her toxins either mechanically (small crossbow bolts, chemical bombs) or physically (fingernail scratches, or a kiss--her favorite).

Plant control. Absolute domination over flora in her vicinity. She can make it grow out of control or attack an enemy. She also carries "seeds" that explode in poisonous clouds of varying types. Ivy can also create "plant-men" of limited sentience to serve her.

Psychology: She serves the Green. Wants to make the Earth safe for flora, at the expense of fauna. Defends plantlife over all. In her most extreme moments, believes she is the modern incarnation of the Earth Mother and desires to destroy all animal life so that plants can rule the world. For the purposes of having a playable character, this only surfaces occasionally.

Beautiful and deadly, Ivy has a good deal of contempt for humankind and men particularly, since men have always betrayed her.

Relationships with Others:
Batman. Very complex. She wants him--to kiss or kill, she can't decide. She's drawn to him and he to her, though (of course) he'd never admit it.

Nightwing. ? Not sure. Have they met?

Robin. The Bat's boy. *Perfect* hostage material, if needed.

Joker. Two emotions: contempt and fear. "Contempt" because he's so *obviously* wacked. He doesn't even have a reason for killing people, while she has a Holy Mission. "Fear" because, well, he's the *Joker,* and she's not stupid.

Two-Face. No love lost indeed, though in *her* mind that's all in the past now. Just another in the supervillain club

Catwoman. That *hussy* had better keep her claws off of Batman, that's all.

Harley Quinn. Likes her. She's wacky and makes Ivy laugh. Tries to get her away from the Joker at every opportunity. She's imunized Harley against the Joker's venom and her own toxins...so they can "play." Read into *that* what you will. (Ivy will never give a straight answer on this subject...pardon the pun.)

Killer Croc. (I know no one's likely to play him....) Would make a nice pet. She's actually kind to him.

Harley Quinn

Harleen Quinzel, aka, Harley Quinn, was a criminal psychologist who was looking to advance her career by working at Arkham and taking cases of famous criminals. Her goal was to write a best selling book that would make her a load of money fast. Dispite the warnings of her superiors that she was entering a dangerous arena, she fought for the toughest case in Arkham and got it: The Joker. The Joker fed her stories of a tortured childhood and of the evils of his arch-enemy, Batman. He started paying her compliments, and on occassions, mysteriously left gifts for her in her office. Harleen fell in love with him. When the Joker escaped and was promptly injured and returned to Arkham by Batman, Harleen vowed to avenge The Joker. She went out, bought herself a costume, and reinvented herself as Harley Qinn - a suggestion the Joker had made to her earlier as a play on her name. She - rather violently - broke the Joker out of Arkham, and has been glue to his hip ever since.

Psychology: Diagnosis - Mad Love. Co-dependent. Little to no concept of reality. What makes her dangerous is the blind love she has for the Joker. She will do *any*thing for him - kill, maim, robb, make fun of- you name it. She'll take much of his abuse, but she *can* be pushed too far. Harley, when pissed, can be a match for the Joker. When the Joker inherited millions from a Gotham crime boss, he cleared his own name and left Harley in Arkham. He then put out an add for the role of "Harley Quinn" (To be fair, he always refered to her as "Fake Harley"). Harley, upon finding out about his scheme, via the front page of the newspaper, escapes from Arkham with the sole purpose of killing him. She goes after him again with the intent to kill when the Joker refuses to go back to pick up the "babies", and leaves them to be destroyed with Gotham in a nuclear explosion. The Joker, however, is always able to regain her love - no one is quite sure how. And it is important to note that *she* is the only one who is allowed to try and kill him. She'll go after anyone who even *looks* crossly at her man.

Ultimate Goal: Settle down with the Joker, get married, and raise a family of little pasty-face delinquents.

Appearence: Traditional harliquin costume, white painted face, black mask. The elegant counter-part to the Joker's demonic clown. Medium hieght, thin, muscular. She has bright blue eyes, and blond hair under the jester hat - though a later episode suggests that she might not be a real blond.

Powers: No superhuman powers, though she is physically fit. Harely won a gymnastics scholarship to college, and has apparently kept up that training. She moves like a ninja and is a force to be reckoned with. Thanks to Poison Ivy, she is immune to the Joker's venom and all of Ivy's toxins.

Batman: Not too keen on him, though she'll play sweet with him to get what she wants. Believes he's always trying to "ruin her Puddin's fun". She's come pretty close to killing Batman a few times, but the Joker's terror of being "the boyfriend of the woman who killed Batman" usually gets in the way.

Poison Ivy: A good and trusted friend. These two are the Thelma and Louise of the dark side. Ivy seems to work hard to get Harley away from the Joker... Me thinks there is more than meets the eye here. Unfortunately, Harley always goes back to her man... but she seems to always find time for jaunt out with Ivy (read into that what you will - I'm finding potential for *lots* of fun).

Two-face: Not much interaction, but she once made mention that he was a friend (Not sure the Joker, or Two-face for that matter, would agree).

Catwoman: Again, not much interaction to date, but something tells me these two would hate each other on site. We'll have to see.

Robin/Nightwing/Batgirl - People/annoyances she occassionally has to deal with.

Roxy Rocket

TALK TO THE PLAYERS

AND SO IT BEGINS......

BRUCE 1

Bruce Wayne steepled his hands in front of his face and stared at the television in front of him. In the back of his mind, dimly, he could hear the hum of his limosine as it slipped through traffic. Another part of his mind, just as quiet, took in the sounds of the cars around him, cutting each revving engine, screech of tires, beat of radio music, burst of wind, hiss of exhaust and blasting car horn into an ever-constant internal monologue of "safe/safe/safe/potential crash/followed us for three blocks now/safe/pay attention if they pass us/safe" which would easily come to the forefront of his mind and prepare him for action if it was ever needed.

In the meanwhile, he thought.

On the TV screen Summer Gleeson had just finished talking about Gotham's Toy Fair - the very place Bruce was headed. The details had been brief. It was the last fair of its kind before the new year, it was the largest convention of its kind, every new toy that would be available for the upcoming holiday season would be on display.

And, just as an afterthought, one of the displays would contain small replicas of Batman's Rouges Gallery.

Just in case the Joker needed a Harley Quinn stocking stuffer.

Batman was not amused.

"Are we there yet?" Tim's voice piped up from the seat opposite his. He had perched himself next to the TV but had ignored it in favor of staring out of the car windows in a perfect pose of teenaged boredom.

"Amost."

That prompted a noisy sigh. "How much longer? We've been driving for forever."

"Not much longer now, Master Tim," Alfred spoke up from the driver's seat. He gave a brief look over his shoulder to give Tim a quick and reassuring smile. "We'll be through the worst of the traffic any moment now."

Tim sighed again. He pulled away from the window to look back at the TV. "Well can I at least watch Pokemon then?"

"Alfred," Bruce spoke up, his gaze having never moved away from the TV in front of him. "What's the status of this KnightVision toy company?"

"Nothing more than what we already know, Master Bruce," Alfred said. He moved the limo one lane over to get ready to exit the highway. "It's a start up company that began overseas and is just coming to the American market this year. The convention will be their first official appearance."

"Any word on the owners yet?"

"No sir."

A thinning of Bruce's lips was all that came by way of a reply. KnightVision was the company behind the Batman toys. Whether the owner of the company was a blind fool who did not know the danger he was in by attracting the attention of Arkham's finest or was one of the villans himself was as yet unknown.

Either way it was a guarantee that Batman would be needed at that convention.

Getting a pass in the name of the Wayne Foundation had been easy - all it required was a whisper in the right ear that Bruce Wayne would be buying large quantities of the toys to donate to needy children.

Figuring out where Batman would fit into all of this... that was hard.

Tim, having realized that he'd get no response one way or the other, reached over to change the TV channels. Bruce, for his part, continued to stare straight ahead. His body remained still, his mind continued to calculate the different ways that he, Tim and potentially Alfred could die that night.

No matter how long the ride was, he found he never had time enough for that.

--------------------

Nightwing 1 RE: Bruce 1
~~~Bruce put his hand on Dick's naked thigh and leaned close.

'Dick,' he said. 'I've wanted this for years.'

'Bruce all you ever had to do was ask.' Dick pressed his lips to Bruce's mouth as he felt Bruce's strong warm hands travel down his tailbone {{{BUZZZZZZ}}}

Dick groaned as he reached up to shut off his alarm. He resisted a strong impulse to throw it across the room. "Christ, I can't even get any in my DREAMS!"

Dick sighed and rolled out of bed. He kicked his Nightwing body armor out of his way as he walked to the bathroom. He'd just barely had time to peel out of it before he fell asleep about-? He looked at the clock above the sink, 9am. Five hours ago. What the hell had he set that alarm for?

He stepped into the shower and turned the cold water on, full blast. Torturous little trick he learned from Bruce. Will wake you up, even if you're dead. Dick stood under the icy water as long as he could, then twisted the hot tap and soaped up. The thought came again, "What the hell DID I set that alarm for?"

Showered and shaved, Dick stood in his bathroom and wrapped a towel around himself. He walked out into the main room of his loft as he brushed his teeth and switched on the TV.

"Gotta catch 'em ALLLLLLLL"

Dick quickly changed the channel. Damn Pokemon.

"- Gotham Knights hold almost no hope against the unstoppable Old Orleans Sinners."

"Oh, that's too bad, Ken."

"Hope you didn't have a bet on them Barbie, HA HA HA!"

"HA HA HA, no, I didn't Ken. Now to our roving reporter Skipper Roberts at the Gotham Toy Fair. Skipper?"

"Thanks Barbie! Here I am at the Gotham Convention Center, watching all of the vendors set up for TOY FAIR 2000, presenting the toys that will take us into the millenium. Hey Gothamites, I bet you think you're too old to play with dolls. But not THESE dolls! Look at this collection by KnightVision, debuting here at the Toy Fair, Batman's Rogue's Gallery!"

Dick choked on his toothbrush, "SHIT!" He ran to find some clothes as the cheery reporter continued.

"Aren't these cute! Here we have The Joker and Harley Quinn, The Riddler, Catwoman, Two-Face, Roxy Rocket, who comes with her own remote control rocket, isn't that just darling! Here's Poison Ivy, The Penguin, Bane, Clayface, there are just so many!"

Dick hopped on one foot back over to the television as he pulled on his jeans. "THAT'S what I set that alarm for!" He'd agreed to meet Bruce at the Toy Fair. Bruce was going in an official capacity, some kind of Wayne Charity Toys for Tots thing. Dick was going to keep a low profile and blend in with the crowd. Tim had wanted to come with Dick, but Bruce nixed that. Bad news for Tim, because that meant he'd have to wear a suit. Poor kid, it can be a bitch to be the Wayne ward sometimes. "Well, I survived it, he will too."

Dick pulled on a sweatshirt and stuffed his Nightwing costume into a backpack. He revved up his bike and shot out into the streets of Gotham.

He was supposed to be there before the convention opened. He was running late. Bruce would be pissed if he found out. Dick's shoulder was starting to throb from a hit he'd taken with a pipe last night. He was hungry. He had a floor full of laundry that was not going to get done AGAIN.

He roared across a divider and through a field toward the exit. Sometimes shortcuts have to be taken. Bruce would be pissed.

"I'll tell him I didn't get in until four," Dick thought. "I'll tell him I was on patrol." The bike cut across three lanes of traffic. Wouldn't matter. No excuses. Bruce would be pissed.

He pulled into the giant parking lot and saw a familiar limosine stopping at the door.

"OhmyGod ohmyGod ohmyGod ohmygod! Okay, look, where can you get in fast? Think, damnit Grayson! THINK!" The roof. Of course! Dick turned his bike to the left and travelled around the building. Loading ramp, PERFECT!

The front wheel hit the ramp just right and the bike shot up. Dick hit the booster and made it to the roof.

He jumped off the bike and sprang through an open vent. He landed in some sort of kitchen area, which was mostly deserted. He went through a door and followed the noise level until he reached the convention floor. He entered the room just in time to see Bruce Wayne enter the main exhibit area. Made It! YES!

Dick worked his way quickly but unobtrusively to the KnightVision table. He looked at the vendors. No one he recognized. He saw the Joker doll. For one minute he had to fight himself to even touch it. GOD he hated that psycho. The doll was lighter than it looked. Dick tapped it with his finger nail. Hollow. Strange.

A hollow action figure? He looked around for Bruce or Tim. He saw Bruce just finishing up a photo op with the obligatory giant check. Dick moved toward them, keeping an eye on the KnightVision table. He saw Tim off to the side, his tie already off. Dick silently came to stand directly behind him.

"Okay Drake, hand over the tie."

Tim jumped in surprise and whirled on Dick.

Dick laughed.

Tim smiled a devious smile of little brother revenge. "You were late," He said.

Dick stopped laughing.

=====

Robin 1 re: Nightwing 1
It was shaping up to be one of those days. First, Tim had to get up early, never one of his favorite activities, but on a Saturday? That was just wrong! They didn’t get back to the Cave until after 2 that morning, and he felt like he’d just crawled into his bed when it was time to get up again. Then, to add insult to injury, he had to forego his usual Saturday morning routine of the three C’s: Cartoons, Comic books, and Cereal. In a just world, he should have been tucked up in his bed now, dreaming of Pokemon, Cap’n Crunch, and super models, but instead, he was stuck in the car, watching Bruce watch something stupid and boring on TV.

And he had to wear the suit. That bordered on child abuse, he was sure of it. It had to be against the law to strangle a kid like that. Surreptitiously, he pulled at the knot of his tie, keeping his face turned toward the window so the Warden wouldn’t catch him. It almost worked, too. But, just when he thought he’d pulled one over, Bruce reached over and without a word, without taking his eyes off the small TV, put the hated piece of silk to rights.

The car pulled up to the Gotham Convention Center, and Tim forgot about his foul mood long enough to watch for the transformation. Yep, there it was - the Bruce mask went on, all traces of the vigilant, cautious, serious Batman disappeared, replaced by Gotham’s favorite playboy. It never failed to amaze him, how the guy could switch personalities so quickly, and so totally. If he didn’t know his guardian as well as he did, he’d swear he was two different people.

Bruce was out of the limo now, smiling for the cameras and efficiently drawing the paparazzi’s attention away from his ward. Bruce was always very careful to keep Tim out of the public eye as much as possible, as a precaution against kidnapping - and more importantly - to lessen the chances of some Gothamite connecting Bruce Wayne and Tim Drake with Batman and Robin.

With the help of some of Gotham’s finest, they slipped inside with a minimum of harassment. Once inside, Tim’s mood changed immediately. There were massive video screens everywhere, each one with a different, spectacular video game playing out in larger than life scale. This might not be such a bad thing after all. Booth after booth displayed the ultimate in boredom cures, enough to make the most jaded, toy-spurning teen - even Tim Drake, Boy Wonder - stand open-mouthed in awe.

And it wasn’t just the stuff. Every toy manufacturer, every video game maker, every skateboard seller and pedal peddler, each and every booth had a beautiful, leggy, well-endowed spokes model to help display the goods to their fullest advantage.

"Come on, Tim." Bruce steered him through the crowd. "There’ll be plenty of time for that later."

Tim kept looking, anyway, and spotted a familiar face far across the hall. It was Dick, scanning the room from a doorway. Tim grinned; Dick’s hair was mussed, his Gotham University sweatshirt was on backwards, and from the frantic way he searched the room, Tim knew that he had only just arrived. He looked up at Bruce, wondering if he’d noticed the tardiness, too, but as usual, Bruce was unreadable.

Bruce was also preoccupied with photographers again. Tim wasted no time, and in seconds the tie was off his neck and in his pocket. He began edging away from his guardian, making his way towards some of the more interesting looking displays. He made it a few booths away, and was staring at the spokes model behind the counter as she promoted the RC cars before her. She was stunning, and Tim was almost sure she’d never dated Bruce; always a plus, since it meant she wouldn’t recognize him and say something embarrassing. He was enjoying himself, watching the way certain parts of her anatomy moved under the slinky dress when she walked.

"Okay, Drake, hand over the tie."

He whirled around, and saw Dick standing behind him, laughing. Tim smiled wickedly. "You were late." The laughing stopped, and Dick’s eyes narrowed.

"Where’s your proof?"

Tim only grinned again, and pointed to the reversed sweatshirt. Dick groaned, and quickly turned it around. Tim looked back to Bruce, who was still apparently unaware of his escape. "You seen anything yet?" he asked Dick.

"No one unusual." Meaning, none of Gotham’s known criminal element were yet in evidence. "But there is something odd about these dolls. Come here." Dick led him back to the KnightVision booth. "See?" he handed one of the figures to Tim. "I don’t know much about these things, but I don’t think they’re usually hollow, are they?"

Tim looked it over carefully. There had been a time, not so long ago, when figures like these were his favorite toys. "Yeah," he said quietly. "Don’t look too sturdy to me." He thought back to the games he and his friends had played with theirs; plane crashes, skydiving, catapults, the occasional fire cracker. "No way these are going to hold up." He shrugged. "But hey, just ‘cause they’re cheap, it doesn’t mean they’re dangerous."

Even as he said it, though, he knew that there had to be a real danger. Batman didn’t over react - if he thought there was potential for trouble, Tim knew he’d better be ready for action.

Dick moved to the other side of the booth, and Tim looked through the dolls. He found what he was looking for, a Robin, one of the larger scale, nearly a foot tall. He examined it closely, and saw it had incredible detail; the same was true about the smaller figures, even the three inch high ones - each was a work of art. "So why skimp on them?" he mused. Absently, he began sorting through the display, picking up one after the other of the small figures. All were equally well crafted, yet all far lighter than they appeared. "Too weird." He filed the information away for later, and decided to try to salvage something fun out of the excursion. He again looked through the stacks of dolls, and found what he was looking for, a small scale Batman. Grinning impishly, he went to Dick’s side.

"Dick, look," he whispered. He stood the two toys side by side, and made them face each other, moving the Robin to tower over the Batman. "You give me all you’ve got," he deepened his voice. "Then you give me more, and I make ALL the rules." He laughed. "This is how it oughta be, huh?" =========

Joker 1
Morning.

He hated mornings. Too sunny. Too friendly. The way those leggy women kept trying to pressure him into testing some toys was really getting on his nerves as well. But he could wait. Patience was pointless unless there was a prize or two, and he thought he may have just spotted it. The Prize, he meant. The man smiled, though not his usual smile. A secret smile and one carefully repressed. Batman was probably about and it wouldn't do to be caught so soon.

Cautiously he wove his way through the crowd, saying hello to people he'd never met and smiling the entire time. He knew his smile unnerved them, knew it instinctually as any predator can sense the fear of its prey. Didn't matter. Batman would be here. He would come for these. He stretched out a gloved hand to lift a Batman figure from the display table, testing the weight of it. Hollow. Just as he had expected. He rubbed the genital region of the figure absently, frowning at its smoothness. "Not exactly real to life, are they folks?"

A woman turned to him, her hair blonde and her eyes green. "Did you say something?"

"Not a word, madam."

She gave him a brief looking over then went back to her own little world in her own little sphere of madness. He chuckled to himself then slapped a hand to his mouth to stifle the giggles in an almost cartoonish gesture. He had to be careful, not laughing now! And the facepaint, was it holding up? It should of course. Smudge-proof Maybeline always worked wonders for his pale flesh. "Maybe I'm born with it?"

The woman again. "Are you sure you aren't addressing me, sir?"

"Why would you think I was? Are you suffering from some egocentric trip, miss? Is this your way of compensating for all those times dear daddy fucked you or mommy-snookums killed your doggie-woggie?"

She stared, open mouthed.

"I thought so. Now leave me alone." He bowed low before her as though nothing strange had happened. "Good day, miss! Give my regards to Snookums!"

Naturally the woman with the bleached hair hurried away. The man smiled. This was such fun! Oh, but he still had to be careful. He looked down at the toy in his hands and realized he had crushed it unknowingly. He frowned, and that too was unnaturally animated. "Me poor massa bat! He done gone all ta pieces he done. Ah reckon ah'd best be on my way 'fore he come down on me!"

Then he saw it. Bruce Wayne!! He smiled. Should he introduce himself? Surely Mister Brucie would be pleased to see a celebrity in his midst. But no, that would surely bring down trouble, and didn't the man behind this whole thing interest him more?? He smiled and placed the broken figure back In the table, resting the severed head and left leg atop the torso before walking on, inspecting the rest of the dolls. There was a Penguin figure (a little underweight though), old Harv de la plastic, Harley the Harlot, and… gasp… could it be?? A Joker toy! The man rushed over to the doll and lifted it, inspecting very carefully. Everything accurate. Everything detailed perfectly. He smiled, pleased that there had been no caricatures done, and carried the doll back with him. He scanned the tables for a moment before finding what he was looking for. The mangled Batman toy. Gleefully he arranged his own likeness into a sitting position and balanced it upon the dead bat, it's tiny head upturned and it's big plastic smile reflecting that of te man who had put it there. "Now that is art! And I shall call it… St. George Slaying the Bat-Demon!!"

He couldn't help it then. He laughed.
=========

CATWOMAN 1
Selena Kyle paused at the mirror in her entrance hallway, automatically doublechecking the lines of her makeup and the set of her short blonde curls. There was cat hair on her blue dress - an unavoidable fact of life - which she equally automatically reached for the little lint roller on the table top to brush away.

Something sleek and furred wound through and around Selena's ankles. "Not now, Isis." A paw tapped at her toes, the head bumping more insistently. Sighing, Selena glanced down to see her closest companion. Isis held her new favorite toy in her mouth, the rediculous little round yellow creature looking like nothing so much as an oversized lemon in the cat's jaws, it's jagged lightning bolt tail dragging across the carpet. Isis set it down at Selena's feet, looking up with hopeful eyes.

"Mreow?"

Smiling, Selena bent down to caress the black furred skull. "No, love, I'm afraid not. I've no time for playing right now. I'm late for a date."

Isis glanced at the morning sun pouring through the windows, then back to Selena, the cat's gaze communicating quite clearly that the timing was all wrong. Selena laughed. "No, not with the Bat, silly one. With us, actually. Would you like me to bring home an Isis toy for you to play with?"

Ears back, Isis groomed her shoulder forcefully.

"Alright, alright, no Isis toys," Selena chuckled. Reaching down, she picked up the stuffed toy. "What about another one of these? Look, you've chewed off an ear. Shall I bring home a new one?"

Delighted that the error of her human's ways had been seen and amusement would now commence, Isis reached up to bat at the trailing tail of the stuffed toy. Selena dangled it for a bit, then tossed it to the side. The cat began to dart after it, then stopped and came back, twining once more around stockinged ankles. Selena pet her, then gently disentangled her feet before using the lint roller once more and stepping into her shoes. "I'll be back by dinner. Don't do anything I wouldn't do, Isis."

The cat gave her another look, eloquently telling what she thought of that order, and Selena left her apartment with a smile and a fond wave.

The drive to the Gotham Convention Center was long enough for her to flip through all of the channels on the FM dial of the radio in her brand new little sportscar, but not long enough to find anything worth listening to. The news of the convention itself, pronounced by some overly perky newscaster, failed to catch much of her attention - she knew what she needed to know. So did all the rest of Gotham. The "Batman Rogue Gallery" was the talk of the city. Selena tapped her nails against the steering wheel as she drove, frowning slightly. She wasn't sure if she would be flattered to find a tiny leather clad, whip weilding replica of her darker self or not. Horrified, more likely, given what she had seen of popular dolls.

And Bruce... she'd never hear the end of it from Bruce. The only saving grace was that there would be small replica's of his alter ego as well.

She arrived at the convention center in good time. The press was already swarming, the convention hall reasonably populated. She smiled and waved to the cameras as she entered, pausing just within the doors to look out over the floor at the different booths and choose a direction.

Bruce 2 re Robin 1

The Toy Fair was as chaotic as could be expected. It was with calculated moves that Bruce Wayne navigated his way through the crowd, hitting each obstacle of news, cameras and ex-girlfriends that came his way.

Tim wasted no time in separating himself from all of this, but that could be allowed, given that he was never out of sight for a moment.

Finally, once the initial rush was appeased, he began moving towards his intended target.

In his mind was an already prepared map of the convention floor, complete with the knowledge of where each booth, exit and display was. Stored next to it in his mental database was information about all of the major players at the convention and what they stood to gain by their appearance there.

It had taken, all told, two solid nights of memorization during a stretch in which he had gotten 3 hours of sleep.

It was with a feeling akin to satisfaction, then, when he was able to look beyond the flashing cameras that took picture after picture of Bruce Wayne and could see that everything was as it should be, all components were in their place.

It also made navigating his way back towards his ward that much easier.

Tim gave a guilty start and hid one of the Batman figures behind his back when he saw Bruce approach. Dick, with his back to him, was not as fortunate.

"You're late," was all Bruce said, however.

"Misses the graduation but *this* he notices," came a softly muttered reply which was filed away with every other comment like it that Dick had ever made.
=======

Robin 2 re: Bruce 2
(^V^)

Tim hoped that Bruce hadn’t caught his little impromptu performance. The man didn’t have a great sense of humor on his best days, and today was definitely not one of those. Fortunately, he seemed far more irritated at Dick’s tardiness. Serves Dick right, Tim thought, trying to psyche me out like that. He had little time to gloat, however.

"What do we know so far?" The Bruce mask was on, but the voice was 100% Batman.

Tim immediately forgot about the horseplay. "Um, well, not a whole lot," he admitted. He pulled the two toys from behind his back, and tossed the Batman to Bruce, who caught it in one smooth motion. "They’re hollow, kind of cheap like. No way they’d last with any kid I know, they’d be broken the first day, a week tops."

"Making cheap toys is not a crime," Bruce commented, examining the toy closely.

"That’s true, Bruce, but these aren’t cheap." Dick picked up one of his tiny doppelgangers. "The price tag on these things doesn’t fit with the quality. These are high end toys, very pricey." He pointed to the discreetly displayed price guide. "Not too many parents are willing to fork over twenty or thirty dollars for something that’s going to be broken in a day or two, not when they can buy almost the same thing for a fraction of that."

"And they look really good," Tim put in. "I mean, these are realistic. Look at the detailing on the emblem on his chest, and on the face. And the larger ones are even better." He held up the large Robin. "See what I mean? These are more like, I don’t know, models or something. But they’re not models," he interjected, anticipating his guardian’s next question. He was rewarded with a raised eyebrow, indicating that he’d guessed correctly. He went on, silently congratulating himself. "They’ve got all the accessories, too." He gestured to the large display behind the counter. "Batmobile, Batcopter, Batwing. The works."

"Hey," Dick said suddenly. "This doesn’t have any trademark on it." He dropped the Nightwing figure, and picked up another figure from the table. "Neither does this." He began picking up one after another of the figures, and was joined by Tim.

"None of them do," Tim said. "That’s not like, right, is it, Bruce? Bruce?"

Bruce was at the opposite side of the display, staring at something on the table, his eyes narrowed and his expression grim. Tim and Dick hurried to his side.

"Uh oh," Dick said. "I guess he never heard of ‘you broke it, you bought it,’ huh?" He turned to Bruce. "What do we do now?"

"What?" Tim saw what they were staring at. It was one of the small Batman figures, crushed and broken, and sitting atop it was another figure, resplendent in purple and green. "Hey, I swear, I didn’t do that. I haven’t even been on this side yet."

"It’s a message," Bruce said. "He’s here." He looked up from the table, and began scanning the room.

"Damn." Dick muttered, running a hand through his hair. "I am not up to him today."

"From who? What him?" Tim asked, feeling like some sort of mental deficient. He was no slouch as a detective himself, but sometimes even he couldn’t follow their thinking. All those years working together had given Bruce and Dick something very close to telepathy, and they sometimes forgot that he didn’t share in this mental shorthand the way they did. He wondered, sometimes, too, if he’d ever have that kind of rapport with either of them; he hoped so.

"Joker," Dick replied. "Who else?" He too, was scanning the room.

"Do you see him anywhere?" Tim stood on his toes, stretching to see above the crowd, but without much success. Not for the first time, he wished he’d hurry up and hit his growth spurt and get some height.

"We’ll never spot him like this," Dick said, hiding a smile at Tim’s expense. "We need to split up."

"You take the east side of the hall, I’ll take the west. Tim, you take the central area."

"Cool," Tim grinned, and started off, only to be stopped by a firm hand on his shoulder.

"No confrontations, Tim." Bruce turned him around to face him. "You’re not in uniform, and there are too many civilians here today. You spot him, you keep your distance. Understand?"

Just in time, Tim stopped himself from rolling his eyes. Sometimes, Bruce treated him like such a kid. As if he couldn’t handle a wacko like Joker by himself! But, today was not the day to argue with Bruce, especially when he was in this kind of mood, and in Full Parental Mode on top of it. More than likely, he’d send Tim home, no video games, no super models, nothing. "Yes, sir, I understand. Surveillance only."

"Good. We meet back here in thirty minutes."

"Hey, wait," Tim frowned. "What if I find the creep?"

"Simple. You follow him, from a safe distance," Dick replied. "If you don’t show, we come looking."

"Let’s go," Bruce said.

Tim headed off toward his assigned area, and was pleased to discover that the central area boasted the Malibu Stacie display. Not that he was enamored of the ultra-feminine fashion doll; in fact, the doll’s overwhelmingly pink little world nauseated him. But, the Malibu Stacie booth was huge, taking up nearly the entire central section, and more importantly, it had more real life models than any of the other booths.

"This definitely makes up for the cartoons," he said to himself. "Almost an acre of super models, and all mine." He grinned. But then, in the back of his mind, came that nagging little voice, reminding him of his first priority; oddly enough, the voice sounded a lot like Bruce. "Damn," Tim sighed. "Sometimes, being a super hero really sucks." With a last longing look, he pulled his attention away from the bosomy blonde, and began searching the faces of the crowd around him.

He walked up and down the aisles, searching for the unmistakable profile, listening for that horrible laugh, stopping at every glimpse of purple or orange or green. He didn’t see any sign of Joker, or Harley Quinn, or any of his other known henchmen. He checked his watch, and was just about to return to the Knight Vision booth when he heard whoops and catcalls. Following the commotion, he ran back toward the Malibu Stacie display. When he got there, he stopped dead in his tracks and stared, open mouthed, as the blonde model strutted back and forth along the counter, whirling her pink jacket over her head. She threw the jacket out into the crowd, and kicked off her six inch pink pumps. Then, she proceeded to remove her pink silk blouse, followed by her pink skirt, her pink hose, and her pink brassiere, tossing the clothes to the now huge, cheering crowd.

"Omigod!" It took all the discipline Tim’s thirteen-year-old mind could muster to pull his attention away from the stripping model. "Oh, man! I got to get Bruce!" He turned to run back to the meeting place.

"Well, well, well, if it isn’t little Timmy Drake."

Tim stopped, and spun around, immediately alert.

Joker 2 RE: Robin 2
It was that kid… what's his name again?

Oh yes.

"Well, well, well, if it isn’t little Timmy Drake."

The kid stopped, froze might be more appropriate, and turned around, his mouth hanging agape and no longer because of Susan on stage. But why was he staring? Oh yes… caught with no more makeup. Well, ok… so maybe he wasn't born with it. But no matter, he soon reached forward, seizing the young boy by the wrists and dragging him into a darkened corner. Their faces were close enough to kiss, and the Joker couldn't help but unleash his second cackle of the night. "I guess it really is Maybelline, hmm? Come to play with the toys, little boy? Doesn't massa Bruce buy enuff for you, son? Ah say, I think you been a comin' here more ta look at dat der nekkid woman."

The kid was scared and still trying not to show it even as his eyes darted about. "What's it to you, freak?"

The Joker widened his eyes, bringing his hands up to his heart in a look of abject horror. "I? A freak? And here I thought I was just misunderstood. Damn, time to gut my lawyer for that one."

The Wayne brat began to back away, still putting on the look of bravado. "You better get out of here before the cops see you. Bruce'll have you locked up."

"Really now? You don't say." The kid was cornered; his eyes locked to that of his captive, reminding the Joker of nothing so much as a soon-to-be-drowned puppy. He chuckled. "Ready to head to the vet, Indiana? You've messed of the floor one time too many for my liking. I may have to spank you."

He squeezed the captive wrists tighter, then abruptly pulled back to release his stunned captive. He could feel the fluttering heartbeat, almost hear it thump thump thumping all around in the small, darkened space and he chuckled wickedly. Then his entire mood seemed to change as he snapped his gloved fingers then opened his coat, searching around for some concealed thing. The boy surely would have moved save for the fact that he was in a corner. When he did try to bolt the Clown Prince easily tripped the boy, pinning him to the floor with one heeled boot. "Now don't go wriggling away before I can give you your present. You did want some sort of a momento from this occasion, didn't you? I'd be so very wounded if you didn't. Ah! Here it is!"

"Let me go! Get the hell off of me!"

The boy was squirming more violently now, but when the syringe was crudely jabbed into his throat there was only a muffled cry, then silence. "I hope you don't mind, but I never disinfect. Germs are much more earthy, don't you think?"

The boy was silent, breathing shallowly. It didn't matter. He lifted the smaller form with a bit of effort -- no Superman was he! -- and struggled for an exit. Now, where was it again? Ah yes, the hidden room. Really the police could be so dense, who did they think this building used to belong to? Duh! But it was all right, they could be forgiven for the moment. All that mattered was the bat now. And imagine what he would say when he realized who the previous owner of the toy fair's latest hotspot had been. Touché, mon ami!

And of course the real mystery of who exactly had stolen/bought/procured/tripped over his deed for this little place and who made those silly yet remarkably well-made little toys had yet to be solved. But Joker didn't really think too much about that. All that mattered was Batman and Company. That could all wait though. The procuring of Timmy Drake had been the real goal and now some time must be taken to let the Bat simmer and the ingenious plan unfold. "Gads, I'm such a genius!"

As he made his way to the secret room he turned to one of the Malibu Stacie models. She saluted appropriately, her pink skirt riding up almost enough to reveal her secret places. "Yes sir, boss."

"If the bat shows, make sure you distract. If you are captured you shall remember nothing." He turned to go, then stopped and turned back to the woman. "Oh and one more thing: make sure that bomb under the Pikachu stand goes off properly. No screwups, ya see?"

Her heels clicked and she curtsied. "As you command, sir."

Then, dropping his calling card to the floor, he was gone out the back. Another Stacie girl stood waiting expectantly by an open sewer drain. She saluted, said some boring things with Joker only nodding the entire time until he felt as though he were talking to a computer and simply shot the hapless drone before bounding into the sewer system with the unconscious Tim Drake in tow. "I really should perfect that formula…"

Bruce 3 re: Joker 2
The commotion at the Malibu Stacie display got his attention at once. Instantly he snapped alert, his mind focusing and honing in on every avenue of escape and place that was out of the public's eye. At the same time his internal database stepped to the forefront and brought with it the profile of every villan who might be behind this sort of attack.

The Riddler, of course, suggested himself, but another name was far more likely.

"Joker," Bruce muttered. He glanced around quickly, saw that the stripping model's distraction was working in his favor as well, then ducked away from the display to head for one of the few hiding spots he'd been able to stake out for himself before the convention started.

It was time for a costume change.

Catwoman 2 Re: Joker/Robin 2
"*There* you are!" Selena exclaimed, delighted. "Found you at last, you little rodent. Isis is going to be thrilled."

A young woman behind the counter Selena was leaning across had a rather strained smile fixed firmly in place. "A pikachu, ma'am? It's the most popular Pokemon. Are you looking for a little girl or a little boy? There's plush toys or battle action figures..."

"Mama! Mama! Look! A jigglypuff!" A small screaming whirlwind shrieked with piercing volume, struggling to reach past Selena to a pile of pink balls on the table. The woman behind the counter winced and grabbed protectively for the pile. Selena put a hand down, nonchalantly holding the babbling child at arm's length behind her as she sorted through the yellow toys.

"My cat," she explained. "I'm looking for a replacement toy for my cat. She's chewed the ears off. Do you have a small one in plush?"

Startled but grateful, the woman sorted deftly through the bewildering array of yellow mouselike figures with their distinctive red cheeks and spiked tails. "How big would you like?" she asked, holding up a selection that ranged from the length of Selena's finger to the size of her hand. "You could remove the keychain from this one... This one is just plush, no hard eyes to chew off. No, not that one... it's electronic."

"Pika-CHU!" the stuffed toy responded as Selena squeezed it. Startled, she dropped it.

"No, that won't do at all. Isis would hate it." Looking at her other choices, she selected a palm sized plush toy that was a fair match for the chewed on and battered version left at home. "There. I think that one should do it."

"Very good, ma'am. Is there anything else?"

"Pika pika!" chirruped another figure, this one nearly the size of a football. Selena frowned at it. After another moment it sprang to life, ears twitching, cheeks lit up, tiny muzzle moving as it brightly proclaimed "PI-kaaa!"

Selena smothered a laugh. "That's precious. It's not like those horrid little gremlin things, is it? I mean, you can turn it off?"

"It turns off automatically," the woman assured her. "You turn it on by squeezing the paw. After that, it will operate randomly for five minutes, and then turn itself off. It's also light activated - darkness will turn it to 'sleep' mode."

"Chuuuu," the toy trilled happily, sounding for all the world as though it agreed.

"Oh, Isis is either going to love it or hate it," Selena sighed. "But it's just too cute. Give me one of those as well."

The woman rang her purchases up happily. Selena turned over a credit card indifferently, receiving back a bag with pikachu - pikachi? How did one pluralize that? - intact. Pleased with herself for finding a replacement for Isis' toy but going rapidly deaf from the shrieks of hysterical children, Selena threaded her way through the crowd away from the swamped booth.

An aisle away, the crowd was going wild. Selena caught a flash of vibrant pink, then more flashes of skin, and frowned. Surely those models weren't... yes, they apparently were, and judging by the ruckus, had been for some time. Selena shook her head. "Barbies gone beserk," she muttered sourly. "Next, on Oprah... or more likely, the six o'clock news." Reaching into her bag, she pulled out the larger plush toy, squeezing its paw as she held it up. "Don't you agree, Pikachu?"

Little black tipped ears twitched back and forth, lending the figure a moment of life. "Pi-"

*KA-BOOOOM!!*

Screams, shrieks, broken glass and the ear ringing shock of explosion. The blast caught her unexpectedly, knocking Selena to the floor. She had kicked off her shoes and was scrambling up even before she caught her breath, looking frantically back the way she had come.

The booth was in shambles, aflame, the stench of burning plastic and singed electronics. People ran, screaming, shouting, away from it, around it, towards it... anywhere but somewhere useful. Selena raked a hand through her hair, glancing around. "Damn," she muttered. "No rest for the weary."

"Pika pika," agreed the toy dangling forgotten from her hand, sounding as depressed as its battery run synthesiser could manage.

Nightwing 2 Re: Catwoman 2
"You were late."
"You take the east side of the hall"

That was all Bruce had said directly to him. That was it. Nothing else. Not even, "Hello Dick."

Dick mulled this over as he made his way through the maze of booths, looking for an unusually long nose and listening for an irritatingly manic laugh.

Unfortunately many of the vendors assembled on this side of the hall were selling electronic toys, most of which were performing their little routines with all of the requisite sound effects.

Dick passed behind a bank of large screen TVs displaying various children's videos. It cut him off from visual contact with Batman and Robin, but that was acceptable, as it was also a likely place for Joker to be, hidden away from most of the display floor.

Suddenly Dick was stopped by a large platform rising up in front of him. On it were three people, a tall man and woman standing back to back, and a much smaller person in some kind of ratty catsuit. They started reciting loudly, making sure they attracted as much attention to themselves as possible, which is certainly what the vendors were paying them to do.

"Prepare for trouble"
"Make it double"

'Oh God No,' Dick thought.

"To protect the world from devastation"
"To unite all peoples within our nation"

Dick tried to move back and somehow get around the huge platform, but a tsunami of children surged toward him, crazed Pokemon fans, the most dangerous force on earth.

"To denounce the evils of truth and love"
"To extend our reach to the stars above"

The crowd was reciting right along with Team Rocket now. It was a deafening, yet strangely compelling, chant.

"Jessie!"
"James!"

Dick found himself thinking that 'James' was kind of cute . . . in a swishy sort of way.

"Team Rocket blast off at the speed of light"
"Surrender now or prepare to fight"

Dick was horrified to discover that even HE knew all the words!! How the hell had that happened? Dick avoided Pokemon like the plague! TIM! He'd have to pay for this.

"Meowth dat's right!"

At the final line, 'James' threw the rose he'd been holding into the crowd, this caused a mass convergence on the spot where the rose was headed, as two hundred or so people tried to occupy the exact same position in space and time. This gave Dick the opportunity to break for freedom and get around the stage.

He made his way past the TVs and was walking past a huge table of Pokemon toys when he heard a familiar voice.

"*There* you are! Found you at last, you little
rodent. Isis is going to be thrilled."

'SELENA! I mean, Catwoman.' Dick mentally corrected himself. 'This can't be good.'

Dick looked for someplace to change. Hmm, well there was a merchandise table which was covered with a cloth that fell to the floor on both sides. The salespeople had been scared off by the Pokemon fans. Dick dove under the table before anyone could notice. Was it high enough to change under? Not for the normal mortal probably, but acrobats are notoriuosly flexible. Nightwing pulled his light body armor out of his backpack and put it on while he stripped out of his other clothes. Years of practice had made him King of the Quick Change. He had yet to surpass Batman, GOD of the Quick Change, but hey, he was only human.

Hearing a distinctly out of place explosion, Dick rolled out from under the table and skidded back to the Pokemon table.

Sure enough, there she was amid the smoke and flame, with a talking Pikachu dangling from her hand.

Nightwing came up behind her and grabbed her arm. "What the hell do you think you're doing? People could be hurt here!"

Robin 3 re: Joker 2
® ® ® ® ® ® ® ® ® ® ® ® ® ® ®

The dark figure loomed over him, menacing and scary as hell. "You failed. It was a simple assignment. You couldn't do it."

"But, I did what you said-"

"You messed up big time, Timbo." A second figure, somewhat smaller, not so dark, but just as looming, just as menacing. "People are dead, and it's your fault."

"No, you don't understand!" Tim tried to back up, but there was a solid wall behind him. "I tried to get away, to warn you, but he - I couldn't -"

The larger figure loomed again, his voice like ice. "No excuses. You failed. People died. End of discussion."

"No, wait! Please -"

The smaller figure held out his hand. "Give it back. It wasn't yours to begin with." He grabbed hold of the front of Robin's costume, and the red material gave way like tissue. He grinned mirthlessly. "A loser like you could never be the Boy Wonder."

"No, don't take it away! Please!" Tim tried to hold onto the cape at least, but it went with the rest of the costume. "Give me another chance, I won't let you down, I promise!" He was freezing now, nothing between him and the icy wind except his shorts. "Please! You have to believe me! I'll do anything, please, one more chance!"

Nightwing laughed, and turned to the larger figure. "Ready, Batman?"

Batman turned his back on Tim, his cape swirling in the cold wind. "Let's go, Robin."

Tim watched them disappear into the night, and ran after them, shouting, screaming . . .

® ® ® ® ® ® ® ® ® ® ® ® ® ® ®

He sat bolt upright, blankets clutched in his sweaty hands. His heart was thudding in his chest so hard he could hear it. A dream. It was just a dream. He forced himself to breathe slowly, deeply, normally. Gradually, the panic subsided, the fight or flee instinct faded.

Then, the pain in his head hit him. Throbbing, pounding, almost palpable pain. He had only just acknowledged this torment when a wave of nausea hit him like a freight train. Coupled with the headache, it was a formidable force, and his body did the only sensible thing. Fortunately, he had his wits about him enough to lean over the side of the small cot, and spare the bedclothes from the mess. This was a pointless effort, however, as nothing came up, despite his stomach's best efforts. After what seemed an eternity, his insides decided to stay inside, and the retching stopped. He fell back onto the cot, exhausted, but feeling somewhat better. At least the nausea was gone, even if his head felt like it was about ready to explode.

"I hope I had a good time," he muttered to himself. When he woke again, he felt well enough to sit up again and take in his surroundings. He was in a large room, some sort of warehouse it looked like, very dark and cavernous, with dim ceiling lamps casting pools of light at regularly spaced intervals. He was directly under one of these, lying on what looked like a hospital cot that had seen far better days. A dingy sofa and pair of mismatched armchairs, and a huge television, were nearby, along with a fringed standing lamp and some kind of small tables. It looked strangely domestic, in a vaguely comforting sort of way. Further away, beneath another pool of light, was a table and folding chairs; the table was piled with junk food packages and cartons, which was ordinary enough save for the large knife stuck straight in the middle. Here and there, on distant walls, he could see large posters or pictures; most were too far away to discern, but the few nearer ones seemed to be circus posters or oversized playing cards.

"Weird," he said to himself. His throat was raw, and his voice sounded harsh and strange to his ears. "Way too weird."

Even stranger was the assortment of smells that assailed his nostrils. There was the scent of cordite and sulfur - gunpowder, he realized. Someone had been shooting off fireworks, or doing a lot of target practice. Various food smells, like being outside a school cafeteria at a bad school. Stale cigar smoke and the unmistakable odor of cheap whiskey and even cheaper beer. Locker room stench, like someone had forgotten to do the laundry in a few decades. Animal smells, too, very strong, like wet dog, with undertones of eau de zoo. Strongest of all was a chemical smell he couldn't identify, kind of like ammonia, but different, distinctive, not the worst thing he'd ever smelled, but not his favorite, either.

He filed all this information away for later reference, just like he'd been taught.

Wait.

Who had taught him that?

He thought he almost had it, but the memory slipped away. It was on the tip of his tongue, but - not there. It made him uneasy, not remembering. Well, his head did hurt, that explained it. He tried to concentrate, to force himself to remember, but only succeeded in making his head hurt more. He lay back on the cot, and rubbed a hand over his forehead.

Abruptly, he sat bolt upright again. The uneasy feeling was gone, replaced by full-fledged panic.

Forget who taught him that. Who the hell was he? He couldn't remember his name. Whoa. Was it like on TV, did he get hit on the head and get amnesia? A quick check didn't find any bumps, so that was out.

His heart was pounding again. "Okay," he told himself. "You've got to calm down." He willed his heart to return to normal, forced himself to breathe normally.

Now, that was something in itself. That took training, too, didn't it? Who? Who trained him? How did he learn this stuff?

"Focus. Think. What do you remember?"

Vague images filled his inner eye. A car, huge car, expensive, luxurious. Coming from . . . where? A throbbing pain in his head, then it was gone. Forget that. Go on. Faces. Yeah, faces, he knew these people. Man driving the car, old, grey hair, gentle eyes, kind, yeah, nice guy, he's the greatest, that Al-

Another flash of intense pain, and that almost memory was gone. "God damn it!" He pressed his fists against his temples, trying to block the pain. "Okay, fine. Come back to it later."

Another face. Not so old, younger guy, maybe thirty. Good looking, kind of spooky looking, though. Grim, yeah, that's it. But not cruel, never, a decent guy, kind of guy you can count on. You wouldn't want to make him mad, though, that's for sure. No nonsense, strict, Mr. Obsessive, that's him, good old - old - "DAMN!" Again, he almost had it, and then a wave of pain pushed it out of his mind.

"Relax. It will come back," he reassured himself. Whether or not he believed himself was another matter. "What else? Come on, focus!"

Big place, huge building, some kind of arena? Yeah, like Gotham Square, tons of people. Another face, another guy, younger still, but not as young as himself. Laughing, joking around, very friendly. A friend? No, not a friend, a brother, yeah! Good looking, in a different way from Mr. Obsessive - a little twinge there, but nothing serious, it passed. Definitely good looking. Sexy. Watching them together, feelings of jealousy, envy, something else . . . something physical - He blushed, and didn't need the added twinge of pain to make him abandon that line of memory search.

Concentrate on something else, anything else! What? He looked around him frantically, rubbing his suddenly sweaty palms on his shirt.

That distracted him the material under his hands was soft, wonderfully soft. He looked down. A Hawaiian shirt, of silk vermilion, with a pattern of chartreuse pineapples and azure tractors. It was quite possibly the ugliest thing he'd ever seen. "Well, maybe it's just, like, pajamas. Yeah, pajamas. Please let it be pajamas." Before he lost his nerve, he threw back the bedclothes to reveal - that his furtive prayer had gone unanswered. Aqua and black striped pants, spandex, bike shorts, that left NOTHING to the imagination. Finishing off the lovely ensemble were brown Roman sandals and white socks.

"God, this is probably why I can't remember. Geek overload."

Figuring nothing else could be worse than his clothing taste, he decided to look around a bit. "Check out the area, know your surroundings." He could hear the voice in his head intoning that admonition; deep voice, steady, firm - whose voice? He thought hard, ignoring the throbbing at his temples. HE could see the face, it was the guy from the car, yeah, Mr. Obsessive - No! Bruce! It was Bruce, he had to find him, had to warn him -

"Damn it!" It was gone, the pain pushed it all right out of his head. He pounded the bed with his fist in frustration. "So close! Damn it, why can't I remember?" He rubbed his temples until the pain subsided, then swung his legs over the side of the cot, and stood up. He waited until the brief wave of dizziness passed, then stretched the kinks out of stiff muscles without thinking, the actions automatic, before belatedly realizing that this, too, had to be a learned habit. Before he could ponder it any further, he heard a footfall; immediately, he tensed for action, falling into a defensive fighting stance without a conscious thought.

"Who's there?" He asked - no, demanded, like he had some authority. Inwardly, he grinned. Maybe he didn't have the best taste in clothes, but he sure as hell had cahones! "Who are you? Come out where I can see you."

"You're awake," came the reply from the darkness. "Oh, how splendid. How are you feeling, son?"

The voice was so solicitous, he relaxed a bit. Thinking it over, he decided there was no harm in telling the truth. Besides, if he stretched the truth a bit, he might make this guy - whoever he was - underestimate him. "Head feels like hell, gut's kind of queasy, but I'm okay, I'll live." He purposely made his voice weaker than he felt.

"Poor little guy. Well, don't you worry now, I'll take care of you just fine." Still the speaker didn't move out of the shadows.

"Who are you?" he asked again. "What is this place?"

"Why, don't you know?" The speaker stepped into the light, an unbelievably huge grin on his pasty white face. He spread his arms wide in an embracing gesture. "I'm your Uncle Joker!"

Joker 3 re: Robin 3
There really is nothing like a good joke, and the longer it can be carried out without losing any panache the better the punch line when it finally hits home. At least, the Joker thought so as he strode down the rickety stairs with the haughty air of a nobleman. He hadn't really set out with any sort of plan when he had crept all too cautiously, for himself that is, into the toy fair. True the bat would be there, and decidedly his little mini-bats would be around to help stave off any ounce of fun. Perhaps he had thought to bring along the chemical in regard to this relation of idea. Perhaps it had been all up to chance or fate or God. Who the hell knew and who the hell cared. Right now, fun was the priority.

Some people like to harangue blind men when in the mood for fun. Joker liked a bit of a more elite sort of avenue for enjoyment. The chemical he had come up with was a mind-altering thing designed to work indefinitely. Joker didn't know how it would affect the Wayne boy, at least in the long term. Hell, he was a psychotic after all and most definitely not a scientist. Old Bat-boy can have fun with that part of the fun when and if he was able to win back his little chum. That, ladies and germs, was in fact the whole motivation behind the joke: a deep suspicion that Bruce Wayne and Batty boy were in fact the same man. Oh not entirely the same of course, but the Wayne part was only a cover for the darling bat beneath.

But how does one test such a theory? Oh if only the big bad bat could know how long and hard Joker had thought of it while mulling over Jello molds in the nuthouse or shoving small children in front of Mac trucks. And Lo, the marvelous Chemical Still Without A Proper Name came to him whilst he was playing with his marvelous chemicals in his marvelous hidey-hole. Alterations had been made, and used first on some random homeless men the Clown Prince had come across in alleys and taverns near his hideout. Next, once the proper dosage ha been discovered, a plan had unfurled and a few college or high school girls had been captured, dosed, and placed for the toy fair with the right amount of bribery. He had only wanted to have some sort of fun while at the toy fair. If he had known he would stumble upon the bat brat he might have brought something a bit more deadly. He smiled as he reached the base of the stairs and gazed at his captive from the deep shadow. It was a good thing he hadn't poisoned the brat. He would be more useful alive than dead for the moment.

The kid was moving in a way that only the Bat could have taught him, readying his muscles or some nonsense. It was all falling into place so far. Joker smiled even wider and decided to at last let his presence be known. He stepped forward a few feet, letting his cuban heels strike the cement with a clackety clack. The kid burst into a defending posture. Score one more for the Home Team, Joker thought to himself idly, and chuckled softly from the shadows. The kid was wondering who was there. May as well begin the theatre part. Oh goody! But best to let the rodent make the first call. After all, a star must have an intro line.

"Who's there? Who are you? Come out where I can see you."

Now that was just darn rude, expecting some sort of a response in another man's home. Talking to his elders as though he had some authority/ Certainly sounded as though Batty-Man had tutored him. No manners whatsoever. The Joker smiled a shark's smile. "You're awake. Oh, how splendid." Then as an afterthought, "How are you feeling, son?"

The child griped and complained like an old woman, and it was all the Clown Prince could do to stop himself from howling with laughter. But he was waiting for the one inevitable line they all ask when confused or lost. One little line that never failed to make the Joker giggle.

Strangely enough the kid came up with two of them.

"Who are you? What is this place?"

Ah! At last! Damn, that took forever! "Why don't you know?" Cue lighting effects. Cue Joker. Cue grin from hell. "I'm your Uncle Joker!" He opened his arms wide and smiled his best smile. The kid blinked.

"No way."

The throaty chuckle that ensued crept across the room like a living thing. The boy shivered unconsciously as the Joker feigned a hurt expression. "You … you mean you don't remember me?" He kneeled down, the grin wiped from his face though his eyes still shone with a mad glee. "Tell me, son … do you remember your name? Your father? Anything at all?"

A hopeless look crossed the young boy's face and his guard dropped a bit before suspicion set in. Joker smiled. He already knew the answer before it was spoken but best to let the kid play his part. "How did you know?"

The Joker clutched the boy's upper arms and hugged him close, his own bony shoulders digging into the Wayne kid's cheek. "Oh! I knew it! It's the same with all his captives!"

"Captives? Wha--"

He held the boy at arm's length, the smile returned. "The Batman. He always muddles with their memories. It's no wonder you don't remember … oh. No. No, it's best you don't find out. I wouldn't want you to get involved. I wouldn't want a delicate little boy like yourself involved in such adult issues."

The boy frowned. Ah yes, the Achilles Heel of all preteens. "I'm no kid. What don't I remember? Tell me!"

The Joker covered his eyes and turned away. To the kid he probably seemed overcome with emotion, while in reality he couldn't stop the quivers of laughter that shook his whole form. "I could never lie to you, Puck my boy. You see … your mother was murdered by your father. He … he took you prisoner when he went crazy and started dressing as a flying rodent, and then he slit your mother's throat. I've been trying to avenge my sister, your mom, for years. Only now have I finally rescued you only to see you so … so very … changed."

The kid glanced down at his clothes. "Well, at least that explains this. Revenge of the Nerds."

"NOT THE CLOTHES!!!" The Clown Prince paused, letting his voice echo away to some far reaches of the warehouse before continuing in a honey-dipped tone. "More like your mind, dear. You don't remember me, that's obvious and I used to bear you on my back when you were just a boy." He stood, recalling his Shakespeare with vacant eyes.

Now the kid was really confused and so the Joker paused, letting the kid take the story in, remember it, and mull it over in comparison with his own fractured and painful-to-recall memories before continuing. Mustn't let looseanother outburst like that again. It only made the kid less comfortable in his surroundings, and the first few hours of the drug were essential. True, just about everything would be believed, but that sneaky Bat and the WingNut could play even the tiniest doubt left in such a mind. As he had practiced, Joker placed a hand on the kid's shoulder and looked closely with burning eyes. "You have the look of our family."

"What do you mean? I'm a clown or something?"

He couldn't help himself but laugh at that one, and the kid looked more than a bit nervous. Joker saw he still hadn't lowered his guard completely. Hmm… the acting skills must be a might rusty after all. No matter, the chemical would make his words seem more believable no matter what was said at this stage in development. "You could say that, kiddo. Come, have a look see."

Taking the kid firmly by the shoulder, the paler man led the boy over the a full-length mirror in the shadows covered with a rich purple velvet cloth. Removing the obstruction, the Joker gestured for the boy to have a look at himself. What he saw made him leap back.

"Holy crap!"

Joker had winced unconsciously, expecting some other sort of word besides "crap" to come out of the kid's mouth, but when none did, he sighed more than a little frustrated. That's one for the bat. Those Robins always had some stupid phrase to say after the word "Holy" so far as he could remember. Or was he just imagining it? Hmmm … no matter. At any rate, little Timmy was having a time examining his dyed green hair and hideous wardrobe. Joker himself had winced at the disgusting taste of the thing, but it was a necessity. If anything, humiliation of the bat would occur, and if nothing else humiliation of the Wayne jerk that kept donating money to that icky asylum and police force. An injection of a chemical component similar to what had given Joker his own lovely white complexion had left Tiny Tim with a temporary Joker-esque complexion. Sans the red lips of course. That was a trade secret he shared with no one, least of all some snotty rich kid in striped tights.

The kid looked back at him with pained eyes at the mockery in the mirror. The look of utter shock and hopelessness made the crazed clown want to dance the rumba in sheer delight. It was the exact reaction he had been hoping for. Break the spirit and at the same time prove to the bat exactly how close one of his own could be to achieving a state of pure insanity. But the kid seemed on the verge of humiliation as he found his voice, "Have I always looked like this?"

"Of course! You get it from your mother's side of the family. Be glad you didn't inherit the cinderblock chin your father has. Nothing worse than being able to compare the shape of your face to a loaf of bread I always say."

The little Robin looked to his Uncle Joker, then to the mirror, then back again before nodding. "Well, I don't see the nose… but the ears most definitely."

Joker made a low growl in the back of his throat before forcing a mountingly furious smile. "Don't push it, Pucky Ducky."

The kid was rubbing at his face to see if it was make-up. When nothing happened, he seemed far more convinced than before. "Well, what does my father look like?"

Joker was thoughtful, standing back and placing one gloved finger to the corner of his mouth in the very image of pondering. "We-ell there aren't many family pictures of him around. I don't see why I should keep photos of the enemy, especially after he killed my sister. And anyway he forced me out of my real home, our family estate on the far hill in this city, so now I have to live here. Hmmmm … he has been in the news quite a bit lately." He snapped his fingers suddenly, startling the kid with the sudden movement. "Let me go see!"

A moment later he returned with a Gotham times several weeks old. A grainy picture of the Batman could be seen and above it the headline screamed BATMAN FOILS DRUG RING! Timmy's brow furrowed at the sight, his eyes scanning the page before looking up at the pale grinning demon above him. "He doesn't seem bad."

"That's because he owns the media, the cops, and practically the whole city."

"I think I kinda remember seeing some guy like a bat … beating the sh- beating up on people … leaving me alone somewhere and mocking me." There was a coldness to his face suddenly, and in that instant the Joker knew he had guessed correctly. The look on his face was so similar to the Bat in the old days that for a second the Tim almost found himself with a bullet in his skull. But the Joker restrained himself. It was the Bat he wanted most of all in the end, and his loins slithered at the thought of using the mind-control drug on his enemy, doing things to him … Joker shook his head and muttered something as he placed a huge fake smile on his lips. The littlest Robin was nodding thoughtfully, saying something about a dream. Joker didn't have to hear it to know what the brat was talking about.

"That would be HIM or one of his little minions. His most common little whore is a man in a blue and black costume with wings under his arms and dark hair." Joker put his arm around the kid. "I don't expect you to be able to understand. It all is happening rather fast. Perhaps I should just --"

"No. I need to know. I want to … to help." His eyes were watering as he looked up at his only friend in the world to be met by a sadistic smile. "I have to do it for Mom."

The Joker smiled a very predatory smile before patting the kid on the back. "You have a fighting spirit. Ok, now to the fun stuff!" The Joker bounded off with Robin right behind.

"Fun stuff? Alright!" There was silence for a moment, then, "What did you say my name was?"

A large red and black toy chest stood against the wall and it was this that the Joker now sifted through in a mad frenzy, tossing various amusements and implements of torture aside as he searched for the particular thing he had in mind. He answered as he searched, his claw-like fingers grasping a random item, bringing it close for an animalistic inspection, tossing it over his shoulder, then repeating the process. "Robin Goodfellow is your full name, but we always called you Puck for short."

"Why? You a hockey fan?"

Joker resisted the urge to dismember the child then and there, opting instead for a more uncle-ish approach. "No, your mumsy was always a sucker for theatre." He wanted to toss in a few lines about some recent study mentioning mentality capabilities coming from the father's side, but was distracted by his bony fingers clutching at last upon his intended object. "Ah! Here it is!"

The Joker stood, holding a few little goodies in his hands and turned to the boy behind him, smiling like a madman the entire time. First he held up what appeared to be black and teal pan pipes, but when he turned to a target and held down a small black button, a red laser shone on the far wall. He used the sighting to aim then blew a dart directly into to center circle. He handed them to Puck and grinned, adjusting the purple fedora as he did so. The boy took the instrument uncertainly as Joker spoke, "It also plays a mean tune if you can figure out the fingering. I'll give you more poisoned darts once you can perfect the use of this device."

The next weapon was a gun. Tim recoiled for some reason when he saw it, but his childish curiosity overcame him and he took it from the gloved hand. "And that, my dear little Puck, is for you to practice with. Perfect your aim and I will reward you immensely. Oh! And one more thing." He handed his new protege a plastic Wal-Mart bag filled with opened and well used Pokémon cassettes. "Watch these. All of them. Study every aspect of this cartoon and pick up a few useful phrases. It makes the stomach lurch a bit, but it's an important assignment for now." He ruffled the boy's emerald hair, marveling in the beauty of this scheme and wondering when he should finally kill the boy. "Come. I can show you your nice room. Won't that be lovely?"

"Cool, Uncle Joker."

Harley - 1
"Are ya sure Mistah G. is ganna git us outta here?" The woman in the makeshift harlequin costume looked to the blonde woman in desperation. "He ain't said nuttin 'bout going to the looney bin fer em!"

"Oh, I'm positive." The blonde woman smiled. "That's why you need ta be ready." There was something cruel in her smile as she began to apply the white face paint to the other woman. She was glad she had opted to let this bimbo live. It was going to make things easier now.

"Hey, why ain't you getting all dress up?" The woman asked.

"Because, dahlin, I only had enough material to make one of these getups. You think it's *easy* ta get this fabric inside Arkham?" She began to smear the black grease she had collected from the laundry machine around the woman's eyes to provide a suitable mask. She took a few steps back so she could see how she looked from a distance. "There! Ya look perfect, sweetheart! Almost as good as I do." She lead the woman by the hand through a dark corridor. She needed to hurry, it would be discovered that she was missing soon. The Fake was easier. The security on her was light, as she was considered a harmless misguided woman who got caught up with the Joker for the sake of a paycheck. Harley, on the other hand, was considered a dangerous psychopath who was wanted in ten states as a thief and an accessory to murder.

"Now run through that door and outta the compound. Mistah *J*," She emphasized. "will be waiting for ya there." Harley directed her.

The woman looked back to Harley, the doubt showed clear on her face. "Ya wanme ta run out *there*? Ya crazy! Da dawgs!"

"Nonsense." Harley waved her hand in the air. "I told ya, Pudd -- I mean, Mistah J. will be there ta get ya. He's got it all worked out, you'll see."

"But da dawgs!" The Fake insisted.

Harley moved towards her and shined her flashlight right below her face revealing a beautiful malicious smile. "Didn't ya read yer insurance packet, sweetheart? We specialize in death and dismemberment." She backed off and smirked. "Now git out there or you'll have *me* to deal with! I didn't spend all that time in Arkham's sewing class fer ya to go all chicken on me!" Harley waved a pair of sewing scissors in front of the woman. They were actually the type that were rounded at the end, but Harley covered the tip with her hand. This woman was stupid, she'd go for it.

"Well... okay...if Mistah G. said so, I guess he'll be there..." The woman slowly moved to the door. Never questioning how exactly Harley had managed to see to it that it remained unlocked for her. She turned toward Harley in uncertainty, but Harley only shooed her away, trying to get her to open the door. Time was running out.

She finally pushed the door. It was unlocked, but to her surprise, Harley had failed to deactivate the security alarm. "Run!" Harley screamed at her. And she did. Out of fear and instinct more than anything else. //Where does Puddin *find* these morons// She thought to herself.

Harley began running back through the darken corridors of Arkham. The benefit of having once worked there, was that she knew the place like the back of her hand. While the rest of the staff were busy chasing after Fake Harley, The real one made her way to her favorite psychiatrist's office.

The woman's office was open. Dr. Joan Leland. She was out, probably trying to assist in apprehending "Harley". //The bimbo!// How dare she think she could *begin* to understand a mind as complex as Harley Quinn's! She rummaged through Leland's drawers. It was a little known fact that the woman smoked. She had to have a lighter or a book of matched somewhere.

"Found it!" Harley laughed triumphantly. She made a little pile of crumpled paper on the desk and poured a bottle of White Out over it. She looked around for more flammable office items.

"There!" She squealed, as she caught sight of a carton of copier toner. She used the scissors to open the top and began to spread the black powder around the room, coughing as she did so.

Next, she turned the coffee maker on and threw some extra toner on it. When she was done, she surveyed the office and smiled. She took the book of matched, struck a few, and tossed them in the room.

So now they could add arson to her list of crimes. "So shoot me!" She said and laughed as she ran from the site.

She hid for a moment in the laundry room. She brushed her hair and rolled it up in a bun, sliding a knitting needle she had stolen from her sewing class to hold it in place. She grabbed a white coat and a clipboard she found while rummaging through Leland's office, and made her way to freedom.

She heard the guards yelling out "Freeze Miss Quinn, we have you surrounded!" She smiled. She had to hand it the Fake Harley, she held out longer that she expected. This was working perfectly! Then she heard someone had yelled out "FIRE!" In the confusion of people yelling and running, the sprinkler going off and the haze of the pitch black smoke, she was confused as a doctor and actually *helped* out of Arkham.

She made her way back to Gotham. She was wet and covered in black soot, her hair was tumbling out of the bun. She was a mess. But she was happy to be free. She noticed that Gotham had had its own little emergency. People were crying and running around in hysterics. Whatever had gone on, seemed to have been over. She decided to check it out.

She saw the remnants of a toy fair sign and smiled. She knew exactly who was the cause of this. As she walked she kicked a plastic item. She looked down. It was a little action figure of Batman. She frowned and picked up the toy. Not far from it was what was left of the Joker. His head had been blown off. Harley crushed Batman in her hand and dropped it.

"Hey little lady." She heard a man call out to her. "You shouldn't be here right now! Too dangerous, go home!" She wished right then she had some of Ivy's lipstick tubes. She could use a slave to help her get some fresh clothing and maybe a car.

"I'm... I'm not feeling very well..." she swayed a bit and the man caught her.

"You alright there, little lady?" He asked. Harley bit back a snarl.

"I...I could use a ride ta da hospital, Mistah." She feigned.

"Sure, sure!" He picked her up and gently carried her to his truck.

"It's so nice of you ta help little ole me." She smiled and batted her doe eyes at him.

"No problem, doll!" He said, putting her into the truck. "Just doing my part to help." He went around the truck to get in. He stopped for a moment to watch a parade of fire trucks which seemed to be going in the direction of Arkham. "Well I'll be!" He said. "Looks like tonight's the night for all the looneys to act up." He turned to face his truck. To his surprise, it was already started. Harley had locked the door and was waving to him now as she backed up and sped out of there.

She was going back to the lair, hoping that the Joker was still in the same location. No reason to move it, really. It was the ideal spot.

When she arrived she made here way through the darkened warehouse. Everything seemed to be in the same place since she was captured. Her first thought was to the babies. Puddin *never* remembered to feed them. Even when she left little post it notes on his weapons.

"BABIES!" She shriek, as she found them. They were there, looking none the worse since she left. That meant the Joker was still there and they would be united! She hugged the hyenas and scritched their heads. They licked her face, they were happy to see her too. "Did Puddin remember ta feed you?" She looked in the ones eye and hugged it again. She looked into the bowls, they were empty. She sneered and moved back. "I'll find *him* and some food for you."

One of the Joker's henchmen came down on her with a gun. "Stop right there, lad-- Hey! Harl! Haven't seen you for--"

"Jest tell me were he is, Carl, and maybe I won't sic the babies on ya." She flashed him one of her more psychotic smiles. "And whose big idea was it to starve my children!" She pointed to the empty bowls "Git 'em sometin ta eat, NOW!" He moved to go find the creatures some food, but she stopped him. "Hey, you didn't tell me where Mistah J. was yet!" He bowed apologictically and told her, groveling to her to the whole time. "Thanks ya, Carl, ya hear?" She said as she walked down the hall.

She made her way to a small basement room were she heard voices. One was the Joker, that she knew. The other sounded like a kid. She looked in and noted that the boy looked much like the Joker. Pale skin and green hair. She gasped. Had he gone out an got another sidekick for himself? She grit her teeth and snarled. //The pasty face FREAK!// she thought.

She leaned against the door frame, still covered in soot and disheveled, and cleared her throat. The Joker looked to her.

Bruce 4 Re: Nightwing 2
A quick moment in the shadows had been all the time he needed to shed the personality of Bruce Wayne and release the costume of Batman. The weight of his cape settled on his shoulders as the cowl was pulled into place and he positioned himself to get a better view.

Higher, in almost all situations, was better.

A nearby column provided just the method he needed to raise himself up above the crowd. Keeping himself out of sight of the crowd, he decided upon the more silent method of lifting himself up by batarang and a few quick and well-practised motions.

All of which got him just to safety when the floor blew up.

Wasting no time he pulled himself up to the scaffolding above, brought his binocolars to his eyes and scanned the floor.

Malibu Stacie display - in disarray but still containing nude or nearly nude models.

Pokemon stand - Destroyed. Remains of which were next to Nightwing and Selena.

Rest of the convention - reacting as any crowd would.

Tim -

Tim.

He scanned the floor again. Then again. There was no sign of Tim and no place that, alone, he could have gotten into. That meant that either he had left the building by himself or had somehow been taken out. Either way he would have to take care of it.

He decided to check the exits.

Again he kept himself in the shadows as he swooped down to the floor and checked the perimeter of the building. He needed to observe, not defend.

The internal map of the building played itself out inside of his head and offered him several possible exits if he had needed to leave in a hurry.

He cross-checked them with exits that made more sense for the villans that were likely to be in town, especially the Joker.

The exploding bouquet of flowers at his first guess let him know he was on the right track. The calling card and the gun-holding Malibu Stacie model at his second guess more or less confirmed it.

"I don't think so, Batman," the still somewhat-clad girl told him as he reached down for the card and slipped it into one of his belt pouches. The click of the gun loading was audible to him, even in the noise of the crowd. "The Joker didn't say 'Simon Says'."

"Where's the boy?"

A shot rang out as his only answer. The aim was bad and he easily dodged, grabbing another batarang out of his belt and using it to knock the gun out of her hand. The girl cried out in pain, clutching at her palm. Batman stood up and let his full size tower over her.

"Where. Is. The. Boy?"

She responded by lashing out at him, her fingernails hitting him just at the line of his protective cowl. His left hand circled her thin wrist at once, holding her still, then tossing her to the floor when she merely cried and could reveal no information. A quick look at her cowering companions told him that there would be no help to be gotten from them as well.

He gathered the girls together and tied them securely to a nearby post. It was enough that the police would handle them.

He pulled back into the shadows once more and made his way over to the Pokemon stand.

It was time to talk with Nightwing.

Nightwing 3 RE: Bruce 4

Selena, never one to accomodate bad manners, smacked him upside the head with the electronic Pikachu. "Unless you're looking for a free vasectomy, I suggest that you unhand me, you cretin!"

"Piiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiika!" added the toy, indignantly.

Nightwing dropped her hand, as certain realizations emerged from his sleep-deprived brain. 'She isn't in costume. She's a thief, there isn't anything here valuable enough to attract her. No feline theme present, well except maybe Meowth, but that probably wouldn't interest her. What the hell is she doing here? Except she is carrying a Pikachu, so maybe it is some sort of Pokemon - STOP IT! Damnit, Grayson, THINK! The explosion, focus on the bomb. God, I need caffeine.'

"Sorry Ms. Kyle," He answered, being certain not to reveal her secret identity. "I mistook you for someone else."

He heard security guards shouting orders, trying to evacuate the building. That meant the cops have probably been called. He'd have to get to the evidence before they arrived and taped off the scene.

"Excuse me," he said to Selena, as he began rooting around in the rubble of the Pokemon table. He saw a wire, melted to the end was green tape, he bagged it and tucked it into the back of his suit, under the wing mechanism. He kicked at a charred Charmander, underneath, he found a timing device, it had been encased in purple plastic. He picked it up, digital display was flashing in neon green, one message -

2 LATE

"Very clever," said a deep voice, from behind him. "If we hadn't been here, we wouldn't have been able to pinpoint the exact time of detonation."

Dick congratulated himself for smothering any outward sign of being startled. He turned to the Batman and handed him the device. "It's got Joker written all over it."

Apparently Batman didn't consider that observation of the obvious to be worthy of even a nod. "Find anything else?"

Nightwing retrieved the wire and handed it to Batman. "Just this. There's more, under all these stuffed animals."

Batman nodded and began poking around the more scorched looking Horseas.

"At least we know that Joker isn't the brains behind KnightVision toys," Nightwing said, peeling a piece of wire from the floor.

"Yes, if he were, the bomb would have been under that table." Batman answered, checking the room once more for Robin.

Nightwing noticed that Selena was still standing in the same spot, watching them. He was about to mention her presence when Batman spoke.

"I'll finish up here. Robin should have met us here by now. Find him and meet me at the cave within the hour."

"Right."

It didn't show, but both were worried. Tim could take care of himself, but he knew enough to go directly to the epicenter of an explosion too look for clues, or to make contact if he had another lead.

Nightwing hit his comlink, knowing that Batman must have already done this, but it was still worth a try. "Robin, report."

Silence.

"Robin?"

Nothing.

"Robin, I am not recieving you. The plan is to rendezvous at the old warehouse. Docks. Midnight. Nightwing out." It was code, of course. The old anything, meant the cave. Docks meant we are looking for you. Midnight meant as soon as possible. Rendezvous meant the other members of the team are alright. So what he'd actually said was, Robin, meet us at the cave as soon as possible. We are okay. We assume you are incapacitated or in danger and are looking for you. The last line held an implied meaning of, 'so if you are not incapacitated or in danger, you better let us know, pronto!'

Nightwing switched channels on his comlink and called the Limo, "Alfred?"

"Yes, Master Dick," came the reply.

"Did you mail that letter yet?"

"I'm sorry sir, but I have not yet. I am afraid I haven't any stamps with me here."

"I see, thanks."

Robin hadn't changed into his suit. Alfred hadn't seen him nor heard from him. This was starting to look bad.

Nightwing searched the perimeter of the building. Most of the people had been evacuated, so searching was much easier. He still saw no sign. He hit his comlink again, "Alfred?"

"Yes, Master Dick?"

"Would you mind calling for a pizza? I'm really hungry."

"Certainly, sir."

Dick knew that technically it was Bruce's call whether to contact the hospitals and police, and if so, when, but he had a bad feeling, and Alfred obviously agreed. If Bruce had a problem with it, he'd have to deal with that later.

Nightwing finished his search, no Tim. He headed for the roof, he'd need the cycle to continue his search outside. Batman's voice came through his comlink.

"Nightwing, report."

"No luck."

"I've activated the beacon."

"I'm on it." So Batman had put a homing beacon in Tim's clothes. He had a habit of doing that. Tim probably didn't even know. He'd be pissed off if he did. It was the same way Dick felt about it, he knew Batman did it out of concern, but it felt patronizing, which was why he'd demanded that Batman stop doing it to him. He knew, though, that he could be wearing one right now and not even know it. Batman was sneaky like that.

Dick had reached his cycle, he pressed a button, causing the black armor to cover it, which was both extra protection and camoflauge, Nightwing couldn't be seen riding Dick Grayson's motorcycle, of course. He donned the Nightwing Helmet and switched on the beacon detector.

"Batman."

"Here."

"I've got it, Gotham High School, lower level."

"The police are clearing this up, I'll meet you there."

"Nightwing out." And he sped off to save his little brother.

NEXT PART SOON