[TDK] ~ Going Batty ~ (ITT FanFic bash-fest... probably) Second Chapter

Title: Going Batty
Author: MsLanna
Timeframe: TDK
Characters: Everybody +me
Genre: Shameless self-insert; with luck a little funny
Summary: As usual, I go places and screw up
Notes: If you bash this fic I will not psot all of it. Whcih would be great, because I don't have all of it.
Also, proof for the truthfulness of teh account:
Ready to Party
Fooling around with Make-up

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[u][b]Going Batty[/b][/u]


[u]1. Doing the Candyman backwards[/u]


It all started with a stupid comment from my boyfriend. I know, a [i]lot [/i] of things do, but I didn't expect this to get me killed. Of course, [i]you [/i] don't expect it to get me killed either, because I am still here talking, but, as you will find out, I am not what you might want to call a reliable narrator.

Anyway, back to Saturday evening and us getting reading for a night out. Being an aging gothic girl I am entitled to white make-up, and I always do my eyes black and bright red lipstick. I been doing that for ages. So, I guess it was the new hairstyle, or he had had a beer to much, but he said to me, "Mel," he says, "you look like the Joker."

"No. No I do [i]not[/i]," I replied, but there was a tiny voice in my head that added "not yet."

Well, fast forward through the evening and back home where my boy friend just managed to get out of his clothes before falling asleep. Due to a load of make-up and my contacts I need a bit longer. And, standing in front of my mirror cabinet, this tiny voice comes up again. And I think, [i]What the hell. Best time to do it, just before washing all the make-up away.[/i]

I ought to have known better. But anyway, I take black lipstick (gothic girl, remember?) because it's loads faster than eye shadow and paint that face on mine. Looks ridiculous, but what did I expect? I giggled like a girl half my age and this is where the story begins?







"Mirror, mirror on the wall, where's the Joker in us all?"

I stared at my reflection. It [i]did [/i] look silly. Possibly because I had no scar tissue to show under the lipstick, but I would not complain. Oh no! I had followed the link to 'Glasgow Smile', and it was nothing I wanted to experience. Shaking my head, I wiped at the black lipstick around my eyes. Nice and easy to apply, hell to get off. I had not been thinking. Again.

"Why so stupid?" I asked my reflection, thinking that people with a degree should know better. If my boyfriend told me I resembled Batman the next day, would I try to find out with cat-ears and a shirt over my face, too?

Probably.

I pointed the finger at my reflection. "You should be more serious, not less." I had to grin. I'd try. But first, I had to get out my contact lenses. Black lipstick on contacts was the last thing anybody could want. The world turned fuzzy.

"I'm right here, you know."

I blinked water from my eyes. "That's good to know, I guess." Then I turned, but there was nobody behind me. A stupid notion, really, because I would have heard the door open. I turned back; the shadowy reflection had taken up an unreal quality. I shook my head.

"You're in Arkham."

He put his hands up against the glass of the cabinet doors next to his face. "What's an Arkham?"

"An asylum for madmen like you?"

"But I am not mad." He looked hurt. Oh my, he's so [i]good [/i] at doing hurt.

"Well, then I am." I placed my hands up against his, feeling nothing but the smooth glassy surface. "I am actually talking to my own mirror cabinet."

"And that makes you crazy - [i]how[/i]?" He tilted his head.

Actually, I had no answer. I talked to my self a lot, and fictional characters, too; but usually it all stayed [i]inside [/i] my head. None of my favourite Star Wars characters, or even OCs, had ever bothered to appear anywhere, let alone the mirror cabinet in my bat

 

I like unreliable narrators.
They always have an underrated credibility.

 

You know that as a bash your post is and epic fail?

 

I wasn't attempting to bash.
I was sincerely making a comment about literature. Unreliable narrators are usually interesting. I'm not always critical.

 

No wait. I get the feeling I'm doing this wrong.

 

Are we good?

 

Good at doing what?

 

whatever you thought I meant???

 

I don't think. I found that it gets in the way of everything.

 

wait...are we breaking up?

 

Wait, we hooked up?

 

Actually, this was really good.

 

Did we? I refer you to my new thread "Did I hook up with you last night."
If we did--I should have remembered. No doubt it was memorable.

 

Thanks Rox. I once planned to put it up on ff.n but then never managed to finish.

I don't remember anything about last night.
Anyway, if you're so drunk you don't remember, important parts just don't work anymore, so no worries there.



We EDIT to please...

 

*clears throat*

Do not. Call. Me. Roxi!!







Sorry, just a little thing I have. Rox is fine. Roxi, Roxy, or Roxanne are not.

 

Oops, no problem. Anything you want to explain?
I know I forbid people to put an 'i' at the end of my diminutive.

 

How about Rex?

 

No, no, it's just...one of those things you don't know why you don't like. It's ok, there's no way you could've known.

And the story is pretty awesome...reminds me a bit of Alfred Bester's works. Have you read anything of his?

Rex? Sure, why not.

 

Well, I already have a Rexi, so no 'i' in that for you, Rox.


No, don't know him. I had no idea people made money telling stories this way.
Also reading Jasper Fforde did a lot for me.

 

That's fine.

Yep, people make money doing just about everything.

 

[face_envious]
You just wait until I get my first book published.
(And you'll have to wait looooong )

 

I'll be standing in line waiting for an autograph.

 

Can I get it autographed too?

 

Define 'it'.

 

2. Crazy Or Criminal?


At least, it was not that questioning coop from the movie. I was simply locked up in a small room which looked like an office and left to myself. Scratching your head in confusion is not something you can do with your hands cuffed behind your back. Since I had nothing else to do, I tried nevertheless.

Somebody came to take my personal data and fingerprints. Even though I didn't think it would make any difference, I told the truth in all points. It was unlikely that they could verify anything I said; actually, I didn't believe it. And I was sobering up which made everything just a bit more drab than it had been. I wished the officer had not cuffed my hands behind my back again. It became more and more annoying.

Finally, the door opened again, and who did it reveal? Commissioner Gordon! Though he was most likely still a Lieutenant. And I only realised who he was once he sat down opposite of me. It took a lot of squinting, too.

"Good afternoon, I guess," I greeted him.

"You know why you are here?" It was one of those rhetorical questions.

"No, actually, I don't." I shook my head. "But I think you'll tell me any moment."

He regarded me carefully, as if he was not sure how to take the comment. "Let's start with the make-up, then," he finally said, indicating my face.

"Make-up?" I managed to hurt myself bad by trying to put my hands to my face. "Oh, that," realisation dawned on me. "I had all but forgotten about that. Sorry."

He probably eyed me with disbelief but with that distance and without my contacts it was difficult to tell. "I can wash it of, if you let me," I went on. "I was actually just about to do that when -" I stopped myself. Now the mirror thing was not something Gordon would believe, was it? And how did I intend to explain my existence anyway?

"When what?" he asked.

Shaking my head, I tried to get a it clear. "When the original turned up. You don't think I'd go outside like this without a good reason?"

"Where was he?" Gordon wanted to know, probably planning to send somebody to arrest him.

"I don't know," I admitted. "It might have been a factory or a warehouse, about half an hour by foot from where I sat."

"Can you describe the way?"

"No," I felt myself blush. "You see, I wear contact lenses, but to wash off the make-up, I took them out. I am pretty short-sighted now."

"But you said you were home," he pointed out. "Don't tell me you don't know where you live."

"I never said I was at home," I objected. But there was no sane way around the topic. "And of course, I know where I live, and that is not Gotham!"

He leaned back in his chair, when somebody knocked and opened the door. He handed over a wad of papers, and they exchanged a few soft words. I was not meant to understand them and I didn't. I chewed on my lip.

"Well, Miss," Gordon said after the other man had left again, "it looks as if your data was generally correct, except that you don't exist. Do you have anything to say about that?"

I sagged, but what had I expected. "I don't think you'll believe the truth," I answered simply. "I am not even sure if I believe it."

"You can leave that up to me," he decided. "I have heard quite a number of unbelievable things in my career."

"Okay," I sighed. "All the data I gave you is correct, this is just the wrong universe for me to be in." To my amazement, Gordon didn't interrupt me while I recounted the whole story. "So here I am," I concluded with another shrug. "Believe it or don't, it's the only story I have."

There was a long pause. "Through a mirror, you say," he finally said.

"Yup," I nodded.

"With the Candyman invocation."

I nodded again.

"You know," he sounded thoughtful, "if that really worked, I would have been more than happy, if only you had been faster."

"I'm sure you would," I agreed. "Having to get rid of the Joker is not a fun job."

"You tell me," he took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "You know that your story is crazy and unbelievable?"

"Of course," I agree