Digital Elysium

Fanfic: The Secret Language of Signs

razothredfire — Fri, 30 Sep 2011 16:29:44 GMT

Title: The Secret Language of Signs
Author: razothredfire
Prompt: Tarot cards
Word Count: 2,905
Rating: PG
Summary: Joker leaves Batman a fragmented message of symbols over the course of nine days.
Disclaimer: This work is based on characters and concepts created and owned by DC Comics, Warner Bros. and other entities and corporations. No money is being made and no copyright and/or trademark infringement is intended.
Warnings: Pre-slash Batman/Joker.

Written for Knight vs Anarchy Round 22. Prompt: Tarot Cards.

Joker bent over the table, brush in hand as he worked on the pictorial cards. Batman was a bit daft about things when he wanted to be, after all, and it wouldn’t do to brain him with this sledgehammer only to have him miss the point. Again.

The clown set aside one card full of bright colors and delicate symbolism, then started on the next. Short of spelling it out bluntly for the man in a press release on GNN, this should be as direct a communication as you could get. A press release would just drive Bat away, reveal too much that shouldn’t be revealed, perhaps endanger the hero. This would be much more circumspect, the timed release of each piece forcing the man to pay close attention and follow the trail to the very end.

Once the cards were finished Joker moved to where he’d stored the rest of his supplies for this little plot. He removed his normal warpaint, going instead for the disguise materials that would help him blend in over the next few days. Discreet was the name of the game this time. He wanted the attention on the message, not the messenger.

Stuffing a few tools into a bag along with the rest of the first part of the message, Joker left for the initial dropoff point.

Batman and Gordon both arrived at the Batsignal at the same time. The look on Gordon’s face cued Bruce that something was amiss here; the commissioner had apparently not been the one to set the signal off.

“I came as soon as I saw. I thought one of the rookie’s gotten up here by mistake…”

A cautious inspection of the signal turned up a back sack tied to the support stand, the fabric swinging back and forth as it squirmed in an alarming manner. A ragged square of paper was hooked onto the rope tying the bag shut.

Batman slit the bag open, stepping back quickly as a few bats made good their escape. A cursory look revealed that there had been nothing else inside – just the bats, and the card attached to the outside.
“Looks like you have a secret admirer,” Gordon said, tapping the small rectangular card in Batman’s gloved hand. The card had been inexpertly altered: a man in black armor charging boldly into the night, bats decorating his horse’s livery. It read simply “Knight of Swords.”

“Odd,” Batman rasped, his fist clenching as he stared at the card.

An explosion rocked the Narrows on the very next night. Someone had breached the walls of Arkham, lunatics pouring out of the Asylum to disappear into the shadows of the slums. Batman ground his teeth in frustration; neither he nor the police had responded quickly enough and many of the patients were missing.

A flutter of something white caught Batman’s eye as he combed over the area near where the wall had gone down. An envelope was tied to the fence surrounding the facility. Opening it, Batman found another tarot card: the Knight of Cups, his clothing rendered in garish purple and green, blackened eyes and a red grin visible beneath his helm.

Well, at least he knew now who was behind this.

Joker had been busy for the last few days, having to keep on his toes in order to sneak around, deposit the next piece of the message, and get out again before he was noticed and stopped.

The Fox Gardens erupted into chaos when his timed device spilled tons of counterfeit $100 bills just outside the entrance to the posh restaurant, causing a near riot as diners and passersby tried to grab as much as they could. Spray painting all the trees around the Wayne family plot in mourning black had been relatively easy with the lax security on the cemetery grounds, but setting fire to the Kane Memorial Bridge had been a bit tricky now that the cops knew to expect one unusual event each day.

Packing the gear he’d need for this latest round, Joker shrugged. No steep gains without a little risk, after all. He was halfway done, just five more pieces to go.

Batman didn’t know what to make of the cards Joker was leaving him. He’d been enraged to find one left at his parents’ gravestone – enraged and frightened. He didn’t think it was pure happenstance that the clown had painted the trees in funeral black, then stuck the altered Death card to the tomb. The dead pair on the card resembled his parents a little bit too closely, and Death’s banner had been changed to show Batman’s symbol.

He knew. Somehow, the clown knew. Except he wasn’t telling the press or the mafia. He was doing inexplicable, seemingly unconnected crimes, both large and petty, and leaving a divination card behind each time.

It had to be a message through symbology. That, or the Joker was even crazier than Bruce had thought. Taking the collected cards in hand, Bruce went to go research.

Joker collapsed onto the ragged couch in his hideout, panting from all the running he’d done that night. Somehow turning the statue of Lady Gotham’s torch into a real, burning beacon had been a far closer call than the olive branches in the shape of a bat that he’d left at the entrance to the city courthouse the previous day. Or the repainting of the statue of the Bowman in Grant Park the day before that. He supposed it had something to do with the fact that fire was flashier than a bit of greenery or paint. That, and it was a long way back down to ground level from the top of the monument.

Going to the fridge, the Joker pulled a bloody bag out of the freezer to thaw before grabbing a bottle of vodka for himself. He was almost done. One more drop, a quiet one this time, and Batman would have the full set. It would be up to him to decide what he did with the message.

That afternoon Bruce paused as he made his way downstairs, spotting out the window what appeared to be the last message. He could feel his muscles constrict with anxiety as he raced down the stairs and out of the house. The sunlight had caught on a flash of silver and red next to the back garden fountain, and when Bruce reached it he found some sort of animal heart on a silver platter.

Beneath the gruesome discovery was an envelope: three more cards, numbered like all the rest, and a note. “Follow the signs, Bat. Come and find me if you accept.”

There was no doubt now that Joker knew that Bruce was Batman. The billionaire was at a loss for what to do about that fact.

While he’d done a fair bit of research on his own by that point, he’d also contacted someone who specialized in interpreting tarot cards to be certain he was getting the gist of what the clown was trying to tell him. He waited uneasily in the Manor’s parlor for Alfred to show her in, a set of unaltered tarot cards in hand.

Ms. Lepken finally arrived, obviously thrilled to have garnered the attention of such a prestigious and affluent client. “Mr. Wayne, a pleasure! Truly a pleasure! I cannot tell you how surprised I was to hear from you this morning.”

Bruce cleared his throat awkwardly, flashing the woman a smile and returning the handshake. “Yes, well. I’ve never been into this sort of thing before, but I’ve heard good things from some friends who tell me they see you regularly.” Showing the reader to a comfortable chair, Bruce took a seat opposite her at the table. “I’m afraid this is a bit unusual – I don’t actually want you to do a reading for me. I’ve got a series of tarot cards in a piece of fan mail and I need to know whether I should contact the police about it. I don’t know enough about all the symbols and everything to figure out whether it’s a threat or not.”

Raising an eyebrow at that, Ms. Lepken took the cards Bruce had in his hand, glancing through them. “…you got them like this, in this order, this orientation?” At Bruce’s nod, she frowned. “Unusual. The most common way to read large numbers of tarot cards is in a spread called the Celtic Cross. That uses 10 cards, but you seem to have 11 here: the Knight of Swords, the Knight of Cups reversed, the Sun, Death, the Two of Cups reversed, the Eight of Wands, Judgment, Strength, the Ace of Cups reversed, the Lovers, and the Fool.”

Laying them out in the Cross spread on the table, doubling up the extra card at the final placement, the reader frowned in concentration and began to look over all the pieces as a whole. Muttering to herself, Ms. Lepken finally beamed. “Oh, I don’t think you need to be worried too much, dear. This looks like someone was trying to send you a love letter that would stand out among the rest. It’s a little odd, but give me a moment and I’ll explain all of these to you.”

She tapped the Knight of Swords. “This represents you, as this person sees you. A brave, skillful, strong man that rushes headlong into situations. This next one is your Immediate Influences, something or someone that’s in your life right now or in the immediate future. The Knight of Cups is an untruthful scoundrel full of trickery, fraud, and sensuality. So whoever sent this either thinks you have someone like this in your life that needs to be gotten rid of, or feels that you think of her in this way.”

The reader tapped another card. “This here is your Past Foundation, something that makes up the core of your being. Don’t take the Death card too literally – it can encompass deaths, but also loss, sudden changes, or transformation. Which makes some sense, dear, given your experience when you were young. That would change anybody.”

“These over here, these represent you. Judgment is in the position that talks about your attitude, your relationship to things. Judgment has a lot to do with rebirth, atonement, the need to forgive. This other card has more to do with how you influence people around yourself, your position in life. Someone’s trying to flatter you – Strength represents courage, conviction, determination, and heroism.”

Bruce felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle as he remembered the altered artwork on the original card he’d been left. It had shown Batman closing shut the jaws of a very Joker-like lion.

“Now, moving along: this represents Recent Past Events. The reverse two of cups means both violent passion and a misunderstanding. The Eight of Wands is in the spot that shows events in the near future, and it has to do with an approaching goal or love finding its mark. These both tie in to this card over here, which shows your inner hopes or fears or secret desires. Ace of Cups reversed means you’re hesitant to accept things from the heart.”

“To me, this all looks like it should be from someone you know, possibly someone you’ve dated. You two fought and broke things off, perhaps, but she really wants to tackle whatever problems or misunderstanding came between you two and get together again. She’s definitely enamored,” Ms. Lepken giggled, pointing to another card.

“This is the card that’s supposed to show your destiny. The Sun means satisfaction, accomplishment, joy, love, and a happy marriage. I think she’s trying to convince you that you’d be the happiest with her, should you choose to give her another chance. This ties into the last two cards up here. This is the Final Result placement. I don’t think I need to tell you what The Lovers means. The Fool means new beginnings, opportunities, pleasure, and passion. Whoever sent you these, I think she’ll be contacting you soon to try to fix things up.”

Bruce concentrated on keeping his expression calm and pleasantly surprised, suppressing the inward flinch upon hearing the words happy marriage and lovers. “Sounds like I don’t need to worry too much, then?”

Ms. Lepken beamed. “Not at all, dear, although I do think it will be difficult for you to know who sent this until she works up the nerve to approach you. A wealthy, eligible bachelor like you must get a lot of romantic overtures, I’d wager. I think you only need to worry if she gets too persistent, or if it turns out she only wants you for your wallet.”

Bruce knew very well that the Wayne fortune was not what Joker was after. Faking a sigh of relief, Bruce thanked the reader. He gave her a hefty payment for her troubles and reassurances that he’d call on her again before Alfred came to show her to the door.

Joker waited on the rooftop he’d designated on the last card, knowing Batman wouldn’t be able to stay away. He was busily scanning the neighboring buildings when the masked vigilante snuck up behind him, knocking Joker to the ground and pinning his hands behind his back.

“Well hello to you too.” Batman’s boot pressed down harder in response to the cheeky reply, grinding Joker’s face against the pavement.

“What’s your game, Joker? How long have you known?”

“I’ve known for a while, Bat. I felt something… that night, when I crashed your party.” He could tell by the way Batman’s hands tightened painfully on his arms that the man was thinking of Rachel. “There’s a connection between us that I can feel no matter what face you happen to be wearing. I’m surprised you didn’t sense me in the same way when I tried to shoot the Mayor.”

Bruce was silent for a moment, his pause giving him away. He did feel something, obviously not wanting to admit as much. “So it’s blackmail.”

“It’s not blackmail. I haven’t threatened you yet. I’ve offered you an invitation.”

“I’m not attracted to you, Joker.” Bruce’s flat, clipped tone only caused Joker to smile; it was a flat-out lie and they both knew it. “Even if I was, it wouldn’t work. You’re insane. You’re a monster.”

“And you aren’t?” Joker laughed.

Bruce shook his head. “Maybe. But I have control. I couldn’t live with myself, if I did the things you do. I can’t live with you doing the either.”

”All right, so I have room for improvement. I can admit that.” He watched the other man go still at the last, the confused frown apparent on Batman’s face even with the cowl hiding most of his features. “What could you live with then, Bat?”

“…are you offering to give yourself up?”

“NO,” Joker hissed, twisting, trying to turn enough to look Batman in the eye. “I can’t live in a cage. I haven’t told anyone about you because I want you, Bat. I want you around for a long, long time. But if you send me to Arkham? I’ll make sure you join me in there.”

Bruce pressed the criminal sharply into the ground again. It was apparent that he was trying to find a way out of the trap; Batman still refused to budge on his One Rule, and he’d be hesitant to send Joker anywhere where he might let slip a few key comments about a famous billionaire.“You don’t want to go to Arkham, but you seriously think I’m just going to take your word that you’ll… what? Work on “improving” yourself? Let you run loose, just like that? You would have fixed yourself long ago if you’d been willing and able.”

“Yes, but I wasn’t. I had no reason to, no motivation. What I do, it gives me something. People think Batman is a sick fuck of a vigilante, but I don’t see you flagellating yourself about how you get your kicks beating up the desperate and the mentally ill, or trying to fix yourself.”

From his one good eye that wasn’t smashed into the pavement, Joker could see Bruce grinding his teeth, but he said nothing. The jibe had hit a little too close to home.

“Tell you what, Bat. I’ll make you a deal. If I can prove it to you, you give me a chance in other things.” The madman licked his lips. “I’ll try to keep things toned down a bit. You meet me once a week, we talk about things. We’ll see what we’re both able to live with.”

Joker could see the wheels turning. He knew this went against Bruce’s best judgment. Bats didn’t think he could ever change. ”Netting me for the police and sending me to Arkham isn’t an option. Think of it this way, Bat. Give me a chance, and whether I’m telling the truth or not? It’ll buy you time. If you continue to be gung-ho about sticking me in a box, you’ll have time to think up a plan. And in the meantime, you’ll know right where to find me at least once a week.”

“No killing,” Bruce finally growled. “Saturdays. Here. Same time.”

Joker felt Batman’s hands release him and the pressure lift off his back. “Deal.” Joker stood, turning and putting out a hand to shake on it, but Batman was already gone.

Fin.

Short Story: The Vorpal Blade

razothredfire — Wed, 21 Sep 2011 02:41:56 GMT

Title: The Vorpal Blade
Author: razothredfire
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Bruce/Joker
Synopsis: Sequel to Under the Chapiteau. Bruce returns to see the very last performance of the circus, only to get a few surprises.

Bruce took his usual seat in the theater, ignoring the speculative buzz that filled the room behind him. His regular attendance the last few weeks had not gone unnoticed, not by the staff or by the general public.

To be honest, it was a miracle thus far that the press hadn’t figured out exactly who was responsible for his repeated patronage. Bruce could only speculate that the other performers in the circus company had been frightened into submission, afraid of what the reaction might be from Jay or himself should the secret leak. It was certainly not a mystery to them why the billionaire attended every performance in the best seat in the house.

The lights dimmed as the show began as it always had. Despite the fact that no cameras or recording equipment were allowed, Bruce was willing to bet that some investigative reporters had snuck some in. It was their last chance to catch some clue, gather some bit of dirt; tonight was, after all, the last show before the circus moved on.

Bruce felt a small twinge of disappointment upon remembering that fact. This was his last opportunity to watch this. The show would end and so would Joker’s alter-ego concocted for the sake of a part-time job, the clown melting back into the squalor of the Narrows and presumably turning back to his sprees of murder and mayhem.

Unwilling to let his dark thoughts ruin his enjoyment of this final night, Bruce savored his last viewing of the contortion and fire dance acts, wishing that he’d broken the house rules himself and brought a hidden camera like the paparazzi hidden throughout the room.

Noting the time on his watch and the brightening lights, Bruce was about to raise a hand to summon a drink for the intermission when the Emcee nervously stepped out on stage, the lights pausing in their progress before the theater darkened again. “Ladies and Gentlemen, my apologies for the unexpected change, but it appears we have a special act for tonight’s closing show. Please, remain in your seats and enjoy this exclusive, never-before-seen performance. Our scheduled intermission will resume directly afterward.”

Eyebrows raised in surprise, Bruce watched as the stage crew wheeled out a large, circular vertical board with restraint straps. As they exited, a pounding beat filled the theater and Jay strode out onto the stage, his performance garb augmented with body rigging, glittering sheathed knives covering both sides of his body. Moving with the tempo, the man paused in mock thoughtfulness, surveying the audience before locking his gaze on Bruce. Smirking, he quirked a finger, beckoning Bruce up onto the stage.

Frozen in surprise, Bruce hadn’t moved before Joker came down to get him, pulling him to his feet and removing his suit coat with exaggerated motions. Bruce tensed and his jaw clenched before he remembered that he was in a room full of people, under a spotlight. Whatever joker was planning, Bruce wouldn’t be able to fight him off in the way he was accustomed.

Dragging Bruce onto and across the stage, Jay pressed him against the circular board, strapping him in as Bruce fought three conflicting emotions: rage, fear and, inexplicably, lust.

“Don’t move now,” Joker murmured in his ear, giving Bruce a wink and a charming smile before gesturing expansively to the audience. The hidden members of the press had to be eating this up. Striding a short distance away, Joker removed some knives from their sheathes and started flipping them thoughtfully, swaying back and forth to the music. Bruce felt his heartbeat race as the singer started growling on the speakers: That I, I, I, I’m so hard, so hard; ride this beat, beat, beat (like a pony)…

Bruce had never felt so helpless, strapped down in front of an audience while a madman launched blades at him, outlining his body in steel. When the Joker ran out of knives he glided forward seductively, retrieving his weapons, licking the last one suggestively as he stared at Bruce in amusement, eyes dilated with the thrill and looking far more like himself than he’d shown with this persona before. A wave of lust gave way to surprise and fear again as Joker grabbed the edge of the panel and the world suddenly began to rotate.

Disoriented, Bruce heard more than watched this round of knives thud harmlessly around himself. The audience was riveted, an audible gasp filling the theater as Jay exhausted all his weaponry again without Bruce gaining so much as a scratch.

Moving back to the platform a third time, Joker stopped the rotating motion when Bruce was rightside up again, fanning himself with hands full of blades before resheathing them all. Giving Bruce another sly smile, playing things up for the crowd, Joker moved back across the stage for a third round. He paused with his back to Bruce before slowly turning his head, summoning memories in Bruce of the last time he’d seen that post: a madman offering himself as a target for the Batpod as Batman almost ran him down.

Joker began, this time twisting, flipping, and disorienting himself, appearing to be flinging the blades carelessly in between acrobatic tricks. Bruce was unspeakably tense as the knives thudded in the wood around him, perceptibly trembling once the last sliver of silver came to rest harmlessly inches from his skin.

Slinking back to the platform where Bruce was pinned down, retrieving and putting away all his knives, Joker unstrapped Bruce, touching the man’s face with a smile for his shaken nerves. Grabbing Bruce’s hand and pulling him to the center of the stage, he pushed him into a bow beside him. The audience went nuts as Jay showed Bruce the stairs back down to his table, the room lights coming on as soon as Jay exited the stage.

Bruce, for his part, was both turned on and absolutely livid. He pointedly ignored the increased whispering in the room, almost reconsidering his policy to never drink. Almost, but not quite. With Joker, there was no telling what would happen later.
After the intermission the show resumed as before, going off without a hitch and without any other surprises. If Joker had looked at him at all during the final aerial silks performance, Bruce hadn’t been able to tell.

The lights were coming back up and the Emcee was thanking the audience for attending when the manager for the company came up to Bruce’s table, a card in his hand. “Mr Wayne, I apologize for earlier. I wasn’t aware that Jay had made any changes to the program, and I don’t think the others knew what he was going to do…”

Sure they didn’t, Bruce thought, but kept it to himself. “It’s fine. A little warning would have been nice, though. That’s a hell of a way to say ‘thank you’.”

Paling, the manager swallowed. “Quite. Er, that is to say, it’s rather short notice and we would completely understand if you had no wish to accept, but I would like to offer you an invitation to our Cast Finale Party. As both an apology and a thank you,” he added, setting the invite card in front of Bruce. The billionaire stared at it a moment, the wheels in his head turning as he weighed his options and his sanity.

“At the J. Pauline, hmm?” That was a rather posh hotel for the troupe but, all things considered, he had made them quite a bit of money – both via his sponsorship and from the ticket sales he’d drawn from curious gossipmongers. “The whole cast is going?”
“Indeed we are. Shall I tell everyone to expect you, then?” the manager asked hopefully.

Knowing that this was likely a very poor decision, Bruce nodded.

The Cast Party was everything one would expect a party full of circus people to be: loud, chaotic, full of laughter, tall tales, familiar touches, and too much booze. Bruce had instructed his chauffer to wait outside the hotel, grabbing some refreshments and working his way through the crowds, as would be expected of him. His attention was barely on the friendly, drunken banter of the other crew; he was vigorously scanning every room, trying to catch sight of honey-blond hair.

Bruce finally spotted him in the corner of one of the rooms, shunned and avoided by the rest of the staff. The man was dressed in a plain purple t-shirt and dark jeans, finishing a drink and setting down the empty glass before stalking up to Tony, the manager. After what appeared to be a short argument, Tony handed an envelope over to the blond man. Jay promptly pocketed it before walking back to his corner, scooping up what looked like the equipment bag Bruce had seen before and ducking out an exit. Excusing himself, Bruce went after him, followed by the knowing eyes of the cast members.

Joker was halfway down a dark alley when Bruce caught up with him. Dropping his bag with a hiss, he spun around, directing a look of anger at the billionaire. “Go away, Mr. Wayne. I’m not interested.” He was only interested in one person, truth to tell, and that person was most certainly not an awkward playboy with too much money and too few brain cells.

“Jay, just wait a second, will y-“ Bruce was cut off with a grunt as the smaller man struck him, punching and kicking in an attempt to literally drive Bruce away. When he didn’t retreat the blows began to get more vicious, and Bruce found himself instinctively blocking them. “Joker, stop.”

If Bruce’s blocks were giving him pause, the movements oddly familiar, the sound of Bruce saying hiss name in a tone halfway approximating Bat’s growl made him freeze. …it can’t be. Eyes wide in shock, Joker stared at Bruce, hardly ever to believe it.

Bruce’s heart was in his throat. He couldn’t believe it either – believe that he’d been so completely, utterly foolish, destroying his cover in front of the criminal who could do him the most damage. His bitter thoughts of self-reproval and panic were halted as the madman visibly swallowed, his shock transforming into a nervous uncertainty.

Joker stepped forward, eyes scanning Bruce’s face as he obviously tried to reconcile this face with the one he was more familiar with. Gauging Bruce’s reaction with each inch he moved forward, the blond man hesitated, then touched their lips together. Two things happened at once: a jolt of electric lust shot through Bruce, pooling at his groin… and a flash lit the alleyway as one lucky paparazzi got a shot of them, dashing off before their vision had returned.

Joker’s face twisted in mindless rage as he stared down the alleyway where the photographer had been, his hands clenched into white-knuckled fists. He was contemplating murder when Bruce touched his shoulder, distracting him.

“So what happens now?” Bruce asked, painfully aware that this man was nowhere near sane and just as untrustworthy. He didn’t want to even contemplate breaking his One Rule, but he was having trouble thinking of a way out of this.

Joker laughed bitterly. “I was going to ask you the same thing, Bat.” So many weeks, right under his nose. He didn’t know whether he should be more offended that Bruce had obviously recognized him that first night, or that he hadn’t recognized Bat at all.

Come to think of it, that was worth considering; Batman had watched him for weeks, knowing, and yet never snatched him up after a show to deposit him in Arkham.

“Come with me.” Bruce was Joker visibly stiffen with anger and realized what the clown must have thought. “No, not Arkham. I want you to come with me.”

Joker looked at Bruce skeptically, trying to figure out if the man was lying and what reasons he’d have to lie, now. Now, after he’d let Joker run free after watching him so many nights. Now that Joker knew his daylight name. The blond man finally nodded, his eyes still wary.

Bruce took his hand and led him out of the alleyway towards his waiting car, ignoring the hooting and hollering of the waiting press. Seeing the smaller man’s anger and discomfort, Bruce removed his coat without thinking, draping it over joker to help shield his face from the photographers. He didn’t pause to consider what this might mean until they were safely seated in the back of the car, the driver instructed to take them back to Wayne Manor.

They passed the trip mostly in silence, each nervously eying the other, neither one knowing whether the other man could, should be trusted. Bruce called ahead, letting Alfred know that he was bringing home company and that he’d appreciate some privacy. He knew the butler would assume the usual – that it was time to get his latest date very drunk, gently break up with her, and that a cab would be called later to drive her home.

Joker refused the helping hand Bruce offered as they got out of the car, shouldering his duffel bag and quirking an eyebrow at the billionaire. He didn’t know what Bruce was expecting, but surely he knew better than to try to bribe him into silence about his identity with riches.

Gesturing for the blond man to follow him, Bruce made a hard decision and turned his back on Joker in a deliberate display of trust. He didn’t know what sort of insanity had come over him; he was barely thinking things through at all. This wasn’t like the mindless drive that had him out every night, stalking through the streets of Gotham in an effort to tip the scales in favor of justice again. This was… different. This was like the drive that had made him go back to the circus for every show, not really knowing why he needed to be there, wanted to be there so badly.

Vaguely impressed by Bat’s trust – or was it sheer ego, thinking he’d be able to stop any attack from behind? – Joker followed Bruce through a silent Wayne Manor into a high ceilinged room with wooden beams and rich furnishings. A king bed stood in one corner, the room obviously a guest bedroom. Joker was beginning to get the picture.

“That’s what you wanted?” he laughed, pointing at the bed with an incredulous look. “You could’ve spared the melodramatic silence and just asked, Bat.”

Bruce turned to consider the smaller man, absorbing his words and… finally realizing and admitting the truth to himself. “Yes, but not just that.” Watching Joker’s face shift from amusement to a blank mask, he continued. “I don’t want just that. I want… anything more that I can have. You. Gotham safe. My identity safe, so I can keep working to help the city.”

Joker looked more lucid and serious than Bruce had ever seen him before, eying Bruce like the billionaire was trying to trick him. “…you have to have figured out by now that everything was just a bid to get your attention.” When Bruce nodded, Joker sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. It was an oddly human gesture, when Bruce had been previously unaccustomed to thinking of this man as human.

“What do I get in return?”

“…me, for the most part. Whatever that’s worth to you.” The way the Joker’s eyes lit up with green fire spoke to how very much it was worth, for him.

“I won’t become your tamed pet, you know. You’re not going to ‘fix me’ like the doctors at Arkham want to.”

“I know,” Bruce murmured, stepping forward to kiss the man again. He’d always be insane, but somehow… somehow it didn’t matter. “…did you bring those silks with you?”

Catching Bruce’s meaning with a smirk, remembering very well just how much the man had stared during his performances, Joker opened the bag. “…have a thing for that, hmmm?”

Bruce silenced him with a well-placed touch, finding the smaller man just as hard as himself. Flushing, Joker dug the strips of fabric out of the bag, throwing a loop over one of the ceiling beams and making a slipknot to secure it. “I don’t have any experience with this sort of thing, you realize.”

“I know. Neither do I.” Bruce kissed him again, pulling Joker’s hands up and knotting the blood-red cloth around them, tying them in place. He knew Joker was referring to things both physical and emotional when he said ‘this sort of thing’. “Does it really matter? We’ll figure it out together.”

Joker shrugged, as much as he was able to with his arms tied above his head at any rate. He started as Bruce literally ripped the t-shirt off of him, green eyes following those fingers as they drifted towards his pants. “…that was my shirt, you know.”

“I’ll buy you a better one.”

“Am I allowed to pick it out?”

Bruce covered his mouth again to shut the man up, biting at his lower lip as he stripped the rest of the blond’s clothes off. Joker hadn’t bothered covering the rest of his scars underneath his clothes. Which reminded him…

Tracing fingers down Joker’s face, Bruce found where the texture didn’t quite match. “I like you better as you are,” he murmured, digging his nails in and pulling the disguising strip of latex off. Joker’s eyes dilated with pleasure at the statement and he tilted his head, making it easier for Bruce to remove the other side.

Stripping off his own clothing, revealing his own matching set of discolored lines of skin, Bruce retrieved a small bottle from the bedside table. Coating his hands, he began the slow work of stretching Joker with one hand while the other stroked the man’s cock.

Joker moaned, his eyes fixed on Bruce as the man’s hands moved. He reminded Bruce of nothing so much as the Incubus of myth, primally sexual and undoubtedly dangerous to one’s health and sanity. He tried not to think too hard about that last, or the siren song coming out of Joker’s throat as he prepared him.

Finally ready, Bruce coated himself, wrapping an arm around Joker’s waist and lifting him up, doing what he’d desired unconsciously ever since he’d watched the man’s first performance in the circus. Joker twined his legs around Bruce’s waist, more than willing, his gaze burning with the same obsession Bruce had seen every time the clown had faced off against Batman. Whatever madness this was, the tie went both ways.

Sinking deeper into lust as he hit the smaller man’s prostate and heard Joker’s hoarse cry in response, Bruce drove into him at a manic pace. They clung to each other, drowning in the unfamiliar lust and electric jolts of feeling. It was over far too quickly, both of them too new to this for it to last long. Joker bit Bruce’s shoulder as he came, screaming through his teeth as Bruce’s orgasm rippled and poured into him.

Bruce held the blond man for a long moment before setting him back on his feet, untying Joker’s hands. He ignored the burning pain in his shoulder, his attention all on the criminal.

Joker swallowed, returning the stare. He didn’t dare touch Bruce, as if that would break the dream. “I can’t stay here, you know?”
“Why not?”

“Just… not yet.” The madman wasn’t quite willing to give up that independence yet, that freedom. He might have been squatting in a condemned building in a hellish slum, but it was his. This cold elegance and old money around them, it wasn’t him. It was all too soon.

“When will I see you again, then?” Bruce asked, wondering if that was it – one quick fling and the clown was satisfied.

Joker laughed softly. “I imagine you’ll come and find me,” he whispered, mischievous smile touching his scarred lips again. “Just don’t wait too long, Bat, or I may have to do something drastic to get your attention again.”

“Now, about that shirt you owe me…”

Fin

A/N: For those so interested, the track that plays during the knife-throwing act is this particular remix of Rihanna's song Hard. I couldn't resist.

Short Story: Under the Chapiteau

razothredfire — Tue, 20 Sep 2011 00:57:40 GMT

Title: Under the Chapiteau
Author: razothredfire
Rating: PG
Pairing: Implied Bruce/Joker, pre-slash.
Synopsis: Bruce attends a new local indie circus with a date and runs into someone he never expected to see.

Bruce Wayne smiled and nodded at the woman across from him – Natasha, he reminded himself – and repeated her wine request to the waiter. It was shaping up to be a typical early evening for Bruce Wayne: dinner, booze, and a beautiful woman he’d only see two or three times before cutting off the relationship, all against the backdrop of the latest fad locale or event. This latest was a new take on dinner theater – an intimate, edgy circus with waited tables instead of conventional seats. Space didn’t come cheap in crowded Gotham, so it wasn’t in the best part of town, but they seemed to have adequate security to put their customers at ease, especially on opening night.

Somewhat thankful that the show would minimize the amount of meaningless small talk he’d have to make with his date, their orders arrived just as the lights began to dim and the Emcee stepped out to give the opening speech. Bruce and Natasha both quirked smiles and commented on the Emcee’s outrageous costume and the billionaire began cutting into his steak as the first act came onto the stage. It was a team of jugglers – fairly common, but as the act progressed they began to use an unconventional variety of objects, which spiced things up a bit.

Applauding as the jugglers finished up and dashed off stage, Bruce was about to make another pleasant comment to Natasha when the next act stepped out – a single blond man dressed in a black leotard that only bared his feet, arms, and head. He didn’t look out of place at all, green eyes calmly staring out against the blinding spotlight as the speakers began to play an intense cello piece. It quickly became apparent that the man was a contortionist.

Bruce’s gut instinct caused him to pay more attention to this act than he normally would have. He didn’t recognize the man, but… something was off about him. The blond spent a good few minutes bending himself into impossible knots and poses, appearing to effortlessly dislocate joints and shooting sensual looks at the crowd he couldn’t see in between each trick. The last was somehow more than a little distracting, much to Bruce’s discomfort, and he breathed a sigh of mixed relief and disappointment when the man backflipped off the stage, cuing a team of acrobats to flip into the center spotlight.

A few more acts passed without much note, impressive and colorful but still standard fare. Bruce was on his second supposed glass of wine when the blond man reappeared – alone again, dressed the same but carrying some sort of equipment dangling from both hands. As the music cued up, Bruce recognized the song as one that had been popular in the clubs a few years back. Predictably, the man set fire to what was revealed to be a set of poi and immediately began dancing, doing complicated, dangerous weaves as the singer began to growl in the background. “I’m the trouble starter, fuckin’ instigator. I’m the fear addicted, danger illustrated.”

Bruce’s nerves were tingling, and now, now, with the blond man twirling circles and spirals of fire around himself almost carelessly, Bruce was beginning to get an inkling of why. Maybe he was getting more paranoid than usual, but the dreamlike look on the performer’s face, completely uncaring in the face of danger… reminded him of the same expression he’d seen on the face of another man, one whose mouth was twisted by scares into a grotesque mockery of a smile. The fact that the man was surrounded by flames at the moment only increased his feelings of déjà-vu. Bruce leaned forward, trying to scrutinize the man’s face for any giveaways, any hints, vaguely aware that he was being observed by his date.

The poi eventually ran out of fuel at the end of the song and the blond performer moved offstage again, much to Bruce’s irritation. He was jolted out of his train of thought by a question from Natasha. “Hmmm?”

“I said, what’s so interesting? You’ve stared more at that guy than anyone else in the show,” she commented, raising an eyebrow. Bruce had been perfectly nice to her this evening, if a little airheaded, but she was beginning to wonder if there wasn’t some truth to the rumors; that Wayne was gay, ashamed of it, and used the women he dated as beards to disguise the fact. He’d certainly never looked at her like he had at the blond man, and she’d never seen any candids scored by the paparazzi that had matched that intense, heated expression.

“Oh. It just seemed unusual to me. I thought circus performers specialized in a certain area of expertise and rarely ever crossed over. I’d imagine it takes a lot of practice, otherwise the Jack of All Trade types would be common.” It was a lame rationalization, he knew, and that was confirmed when Natasha rolled her eyes, taking a sip of wine and magnanimously letting the topic drop as her attention shifted to a team of plate spinners.

That was another odd thing. Every other performer seemed to work in a coordinated team. The blond man had performed alone twice.

Bruce found he couldn’t pay attention to the rest of the acts, his mind drifted back to recollections of a ragged clown, green eyes blazing from kohl-blackened sockets as he laughed and destroyed everything around himself. Bruce could feel his expression going blank and stiff; hopefully the darkness of the audience’s side of the room would partially disguise it as simple boredom.

His attention was brought back to the present when the lights onstage shut off, plunging the room into darkness. The Emcee announced that they’d reached the final act for the night. Bruce could just hear the clicking of machinery behind the boom of the Emcee’s voice on the speakers. The lights came up and revealed that man again, kneeling on the ground, a dark blood-red scarf wrapped around his throat before it trailed off to some sort of fixture in the ceiling. A brooding, slow tune began to play from the speakers as the man slowly removed the scarf from his neck, then began to ascend up the twin lengths of fabric. Chills prickled Bruce’s skin as the singer of this musical piece began to whisper ominously about falling down a rabbit hole.

As soon as he reached the top, the man began to sinuously twine the scarves around himself, twisting and contorting and letting himself occasionally fall like a Jacob’s Ladder, oblivious to the fact that there were no nets below him to save him if he fell. His movements looked deceptively effortless, and they were unquestioningly designed to be seductive. The entire theater was the quietest it’d been since they’d started, the only sounds the music and the rustle of fabric onstage.

The performer tumbled suddenly down the scarf, stopped just as suddenly by a knot around his ankle as he hung upside down, and suddenly Bruce knew. His mind flashed back to the last time he’d seen Joker suspended like that, the memory matching the sight before him in certain ways. The look on the man’s face, the fall of his hair, the twist of his body as he hung – somehow, it was him. Bruce barely noticed when his date huffed in disgust and disappointment, her suspicions confirmed, and left the table to go catch a cab home.

Bruce was riveted, watching every dreamlike, suspended contortion and drop, following the impossible, sensual twist of limbs and brief glimpses of handsome, unmarked face. When the man tied a knot in the scarves and dropped a startling number of feet, shifting until he was hanging from a loop at the back of his head, Bruce felt another shiver run through him. He was sure. He watched the performer lock his legs out in a split before going limp and still, simulating a hanging, and Bruce was damn sure. It was Joker.

The music and lights dimmed as the stage crew lowered the scarves until the man’s feet touched the ground, curtains dropping and lights coming on in the audience’s side of the room. The Emcee was giving his final speech when Bruce tossed down enough cash to cover the dinner and booked it for the manager’s office.

A startled but professional face answered Bruce’s knocks. “Oh, Mr. Wayne. A pleasure to have you with us tonight. Is there something I can do for you?”

“Yes, actually. I was a bit curious about one of the performers – the man in the last act. That was impressive. Would it be possible to meet him and have him autograph the playbill?”

The manager’s face froze for a moment before he continued with his smiles and pleasantries, but Bruce hadn’t missed his flinch. “Oh, it might be. I’m afraid that Jay isn’t normally in our company – he’s just contracted for a short time while we’re in Gotham. We offered him a more permanent position, but I’m afraid he was unwilling to travel with us. He tends to be intensely private and doesn’t always get along the best with the rest of our staff.” Seeing Bruce’s determined look, well aware that such a prestigious patron could be a windfall for the company, the manager coughed. “…well, I suppose it couldn’t hurt to ask. Please follow me.” He had a feeling Bruce Wayne was unused to hearing ‘no’ and wouldn’t patiently wait around in the office just to receive a negative response.

Taking the billionaire around back, avoiding the changing rooms, they wound through a confusing muddle of stage equipment, costumes, makeup kits, and performers busily celebrating a successful opening. They found the blond man in the corner of one back room, still dressed in his stage garb and busily packing equipment into a duffel bag. He whipped around suddenly at the sound of their footsteps, wary anger swiftly transforming into a pleasant smile. “Tony. To what do I owe the visit?”

Gods, that voice. And that smile. It was missing the scars, but it was unmistakable, at least for him. He’d seen it too often, too up close and personal. Shaking himself out of the reverie, Bruce stepped forward to join the manager, trying not to make his scrutiny of the Joker’s face too obvious. “I’m afraid I asked him to do me a favor. I was impressed with the show and wanted a chance to meet you, Mister…”

“Jay, just as it says in the program.” Catching Bruce’s look, his smile deepened, a clever light sparking in his eyes. “Sorry, Mr. Wayne. I don’t ever give my real name out.”

“That’s unfortunate. I don’t suppose you’d mind…?” Bruce asked, holding out the playbill and a pen. Joker stared at the items for a second before realizing what Bruce was implying, taking them and quickly signing in the empty space next to where his acts were listed. Bruce accepted them back and couldn’t help but smile – the man had been bold enough to sign only a spidery, embellished letter J, accompanied by a smilie face.

“Is that all then?” joker was impatient to get paid and get out – out of this outfit, this face, this building and back to where he was comfortable.

“Just one more small boon,” Bruce said apologetically, shooting a glance at the manager fidgeting beside him. It was interesting, seeing that other people sensed something off about the man, some dangerous aura. “Would you mind showing me those flips one more time?”

Rolling his eyes with a grin, the yellowed teeth rather alarming in such a normal face, Joker acquiesced. “Fine. Tony, go clear people out of the hallway near here.” Shooting Bruce an amused look, Joker quirked an eyebrow. “I’ll admit, I’d heard the rumors, but I didn’t think you’d be the type, Mr. Wayne.” Moving out into the hallway, Joker got a running start, backflipping at an alarming speed, breaking off and turning around in midair just before he’d have hit Bruce. Shooting him another unsettling grin as he glanced up and straightened his spine, the blond man winked. “Always glad to provide a thrill.” With that he turned on his heel, scooping up the duffel bag as he left the room.

Bruce was left staring at where Joker’s retreating figure had been when the manager returned, apologizing for the performer’s brusque, flippant attitude. Bruce brushed him off with polite reassurances. “You said he’s not a regular employee.” When the manager dithered, probably to avoid admitting questionable hiring and payroll practices, Bruce pressed on. “Will he not be at every performance, then?”

“…oh. No, he’s contracted to appear regularly for as long as we’re in Gotham. A few weeks at the very least.”

Bruce considered this. He told himself that it was purely business… but part of him had to admit it: he wanted to see Joker’s performances again. All of them, especially the last, tangled in fabric and suspending in midair, helple-

BUSINESS, he reminded himself, thanking the manager and leaving. He stared at the signed program the entire drive home.

Gotham was abuzz with gossip over the next few weeks. Bruce Wayne had come forward as a sponsor for yet another performing art group, which wasn’t anything unusual, but a slighted former girlfriend had levied a claim that it was because he was having a fling with one of the performers. The scandal rags and paparazzi were scrambling to uncover more dirt, but so far all they’d turned up was one fact, confirmed by many witnesses.

Bruce Wayne had never missed a single show of the circus in question.

Fin.

A/N: Songs used as a soundtrack include Escape Artist by Zoe Keaating for the contortion act, Firestarter by The Prodigy for the fire poi act, and for the final aerial silks act. The aerial silks scene is directly inspired by Svetlana Goncharova's amazing performance. (Literally, insert a mental image of J.)
For an impressive look at fire poi, this is a fantastic demonstration. It becomes very intense about a minute and a half in.

Human Rights Issue.

razothredfire — Tue, 09 Feb 2010 16:22:12 GMT

This has checked out. It's not a hoax or a scam.

Save My Father Hector Aleem
by Mehwish Aleem

At a time that the United Nations calls Switzerland's ban on new minarets "clearly discriminatory and deeply divisive," and the whole world is condemning the Swiss for their vote, I would like to bring to the attention of the world my plight.

My name is Mehwish Aleem and my father (Hector Aleem) is a human rights activist in Pakistan. He has been working as a human rights activist since 1996. He is running an NGO with the name of PEACE WORLDWIDE. Hector Aleem has worked for Christians and Muslims without prejudice. But today he is in jail and could be killed at any time.

My father was working for a church destroyed by CDA (capital development authority) in Islamabad Pakistan. The church was destroyed because according to CDA it was built illegally. The charge was false.

There are many mosques in Islamabad (the capital of Pakistan) that are built with no permit, but no one will dare to touch them. For example, there was a vacant lot near my house and a Maulvi (Muslim leader) started to build a mosque on it. The land belonged to an absentee owner. When the owner learned about it, he started to destroy the illegally built mosque on his property. Hundreds of Muslims rioted and threatened to kill the owner of the land. As the result he give up his land in order to save his life. The government did not intervene. Churches on the other hand are destroyed by the governments' own agents.

When Hector Aleem objected to the destruction of the church he faced with several lawsuits ranging from fraud to criminal charges. He fought all of them in the courts and proved his innocence.

His opponents tried to assassinate him several times. The Maulvies threatened him that if he continues to work for the church they would kill him and his sons, and would force his dughters to convert to Islam.

During this time Hector Aleem received a Peace award by Mr. Yousaf Raza Gillani the prime minister of Pakistan. One month later, on 21st January, 2009 he was arrested by the police. They severely beat him and tortured him mentally and physically. After 24 hours of not knowing what were the charges, we were told that his offence is blasphemy, a charge that caries death penalty in Pakistan.

According to the first information report someone sent a blasphemous message to a leader of Sunni Tehreek (a Muslim extremist organization) and that sender had once contacted my father. So my father is guilty by association. Since they could not find the offender, they arrested my father.

Hector Aleem, is 51 years old and is a heart patient. He is not allowed to take his medication and is denied visitation. During his trial a large mob gathered in front of the court chanting slogans against him and threatened the judge that if he releases my father they will kill him themselves and they will destroy the court and will also kill the judge and the lawyer who defended my father. Under the mob's pressure, the judge refused bail. The lawyer of the plaintiffs, who is a Maulvi, told the judge that if he releases my father, he (my father) will be killed as soon as he steps outside the court.

Then on 24 June 2009, chief justice of Pakistan Mr. Iftikhar Ahmed Chaudry granted my father bail, but the Maulvies lodged many other criminal cases against him so that he cannot come out.

Hector Aleem is still in jail. It is one year since his capture. The police are in cahoots with the Maulvies. Once two policemen went to my father's cell and told him that even if he is granted a bail they will not let a blasphemer out. They will lodge so many cases against him that he will not be able to bear them. Soon after that they proceeded to lodge more charges against my father. They used to take him to the police station every fifteen days, where they beat him and torture him in front of the Maulvies and the Taliban.

I am begging for help. I plead to all those who champion the right of Muslims to build more minarets to also care about the minorities in Islamic countries. We are fighting for our lives. Are Muslim minarets more important than our lives of non-Muslims?

Please sign my petition. Please write to the Pakistani authorities listed bellow and ask them to release my father Hector Aleem as soon as possible. He is not guilty of any crime and the accusations of blasphemy that are made against him are false. They want to destroy him because he objected to the destruction of a church.

Today, all our family is in hiding. All of us have received death threats. My siblings and I have left our studies and hide for our safety. There is no future for us in our country. If my father is released he will be killed by the mob. We need to get out of Pakistan. Please help us if you can. We don't know where to turn and whom to ask for help.

There is so much hoo-ha about the ban of minarets in Switzerland, but will anyone hear our cry?

Please make our cry reach to the ears of those who care more for human life than building minarets. We have done nothing wrong. Our only crime is to be Christians in an Islamic country.

Please contact these authorities and tell them to release my father. They know Hector Aleem is innocent, they are afraid of the mob. Your concern will give them the excuse to act.

Please also sign this petition

Please digg this article so it can be read by more people. The more people know about it and write to the Pakistani authorities, the more are the chances that my father is set free.
Thanks you for your concern.

Some of these addresses have emails; others have fax and phone numbers. Please contact them all and save our lives.

Asif Ali Zardari
President of Pakistan
publicmail@president.gov.pk
ppp@comsats.net.pk

Mr. Syed Yousaf Raza Gillani Prime minister of Pakistan Prime Minister House, Islamabad PAKISTAN Fax: + 92 51 9221596 E-mail: webmaster@infopak.gov.pk

Supreme Court of PakistanConstitution Avenue, IslamabadTelephone: 051-9220581-9220600 Fax: 051-9213452
secretarygeneral@president.gov.pk

Bilawal Bhutto Zardari chairman@ppp.org.pk
Federal Minister of Law Justice and Human Rights S Block, Pakistan Secretariat, Islamabad PAKISTAN Fax: +92 51 920 2628 E-mail: minister@molaw.gov.pk
Mr. Rehman Malik Advisor for Ministry of Interior Room No. 404, 4th Floor, R Block, Pak Secretariat Islamabad PAKISTAN Fax: +92 51 920 2624 Tel: +92 51 921 2026 E-mail: minister@interior.gov.pk
Mr. Mian Shahbaz Sharif Chief Minister of Punjab H-180 Model Town, Lahore PAKISTAN Fax: +92 42 5881383
Minister of Law Government of Punjab Punjab Secretariat Ravi Road Lahore PAKISTAN E-mail: law@punjab.gov.pk
Chief Secretary of Government of Punjab Punjab Secretariat Lahore PAKISTAN Fax: +92 42 7324489 E-mail: chiefsecy@punjab.gov.pk
Dr. Faqir Hussain Registrar Supreme Court of Pakistan Constitution Avenue, Islamabad PAKISTAN Fax: + 92 51 9213452 E-mail: mail@supremecourt.gov.pk

Mr. Syed Hamid Saeed Kazmi Minister for Religious Affairs Islamabad PAKISTAN Tel: +92 51 9214856 / 9206982 Fax: +92 51 9213593 E-mail: mra.hajj@gmail.com

It may also be worth it to contact Barack Obama, Hillary Clinton, Robert Gates, General Petraeus, or anyone else who is in a position of power that is able to do something and has a history of intervening in human rights issues.

razothredfire — Wed, 17 Jun 2009 18:44:26 GMT

If there is one person or more on your friends list who makes your world a better place just because they exist and who you would not have met (in real life or not) without the internet, then post this same sentence in your journal.

I'm looking at a lot of you. <3

In case you haven't heard of it...

razothredfire — Mon, 01 Jun 2009 16:27:11 GMT

Lackadaisy Cats.

Is an amazing comic by a wonderfully talented lady.

http://lackadaisy.foxprints.com/archive.php

It is also full of humor as well as the usual action and intrigue. Like these snippets: http://lackadaisy.foxprints.com/exhibit.php?exhibitid=29
http://lackadaisy.foxprints.com/exhibit.php?exhibitid=30
http://lackadaisy.foxprints.com/exhibit.php?exhibitid=216

I ship Viktor and Mordecai, shamelessly. See me and my lack of shame! They are equally adorable when not in anthropomorphic cat form.

Wow.

razothredfire — Thu, 09 Apr 2009 21:27:47 GMT

We Got On Fandom Secrets.

http://community.livejournal.com/fandomsecrets/263544.html?#cutid1

razothredfire — Wed, 18 Mar 2009 20:02:02 GMT

http://www.sinfest.net/archive_page.php?comicID=2131

OH GODS NOW I SHIP IT. x_x

Don't-Want-To-Starve BPAL sale.

razothredfire — Mon, 23 Feb 2009 08:10:53 GMT

Bottles (All full, cleanly tested once.) - $17 each
Chant D'Autumn - The scent of the year's fall and the setting sun, ominous and foreboding: dried leaves, charred wood, blood musk, amber, khus, and Nicotiana tabacum. (Smells like a wonderful bonfire to me.)
Fearful Pleasure - Dried orange peels floating in simmering cider, roasted apples, smoldering firewood, chimney smoke, sassafras beer, warm hawthorn wood and oakmoss. (The essence of apple cider.)
Meditation in Autumn - A desolate scent, dusty, bleak, and withered: old wood, burnt brown sandalwood, and twisted vines.
The Schoolhouse - Dandelion, white clover, balsam fir logs, and birchwood switches. (Like an olden times wooden schoolhouse.)

LE and Unimpable Imps (all very full, acquired 2nd hand, tested once cleanly) - $3 each
Anactoria (08) -Golden amber, white honey, red currant, daemonorops, kush, and Arabian musk.
Baku - Astringent. Lavender. Licorice? Eucalyptus
Erato - a crush of roses with sweet pea, myrrh, ylang ylang, orris and stephanotis.
Goneril - White geranium, calla lily, cedarwood and black orchid
Khajuraho (08) - honey, date palm, tuberose, davana blossom, amber, white sandalwood, vanilla bean, Damask rose, and champaca flower.
The Passionate Shepherd to His Love (08) - Heather, clover, Irish moss, English ivy, tea rose, and carnation. (Love confessed in the grassy hills)
Valentine of Rome (08) - Ecclesiastical incense, Roman flora, and the fruits of martyrdom: cypress, olive blossom, frankincense, myrrh, and blood accord.

GC Imps (all very full, many lab-fresh, some acquired 2nd hand, tested once cleanly) - $1 each
51 - The scent of Area 51. Green mandarin, neroli, honeydew, white amber, guava, freesia, white and green musks hovering over desert scrub, smashed wood, and the dry, biting scent of night air over the Groom Lake salt flats. (Green and sharp and alien)
Ave Maria Gratia Plena - Rosewood with Sicilian lemon peel, red Mysore sandalwood, pale musks, sweet mountain sage and a dusting of lily, night-blooming jasmine and orris
Blood - Essence of dragon's blood resin, thickened with myrrh and cherry, with a trickle of clove
Bluebeard - Violet, lavender, white musk and vetiver.
Delphi - The smoke of Sacred Incense of Apollo twined through laurel branches, bay, and honey wine.
Dian's Bud - Wormwood. (Like an whiff of absinthe)
Florence - Elegant iris, bright berries, gilded amber and velvety spices.
Gaueko - Blackened sandalwood and misty lavender, with curling wisps of smoky tobacco, nag champa, and labdanum.
Grog - This be the scent of pirate rum.
Iago - sinuous black musk, wet leather and vetiver
Intrigue - Black palm, with cocoa, fig and shadowy wooded notes
Jailbait - Sticky pink bubblegum and the thick, sweet scent of orange and cherry lollipops smeared over a breath of heady womanly perfume
Jezebel - honey, roses, orange blossom and sandalwood
Kubla Khan x2 - Through sunlit caves of ice, roses unfurl amidst dancing waves of serpentine opium smoke and amber tobacco, golden sandalwood, champaca, tea leaf, sugared lily, ginger, rich hay absolute, leather, dark vanilla, mandarin, peru balsam, and Moroccan jasmine.
Kyoto - cherry blossom, white sandalwood and star anise.
Madrid x2 - Bold red wine, mimosa, and a trickle of clove.
Olokun - His ofrenda is the scent of the lightless deep: the glorious, unknowable gloom of the ocean floor.
Ophelia - lotus, water blossom ivy, stargazer lily and white rose
Phantom Queen - Black orchid, apple blossom, meadowsweet, and rue over Irish moss, hawthorn and red clover.
Phobos - Chilling white musk, lemon verbena, white grapefruit and lemongrass.
Pride - Moroccan rose and narcissus.
Queen - Sage and black pepper.
Queen of Sheba - golden honeyed almonds and a whisper of African and Middle Eastern spices.
R'lyeh - hellishly dark aquatic scent, evocative of fathomless oceanic deeps, the mysteries of madness buried under crushing black waters, and the brooding eternal evil that lies beneath the waves.
Saturnalia - Violet deepened with vetiver.
Seraphim - alla lily, wisteria, white sandalwood, Damascus rose and frankincense
Serpent's Kiss - Dragon's blood, vetivert and spice.
Shoggoth - white amber, green coconut meat, iris, palmarosa, Chinese peony, lime, water lily, snowdrop, muguet, lemongrass, osmanthus, wisteria, glassy musk, and hinoki.
Silk Road - A panoply of cultural treasures, spanning the herbs, flowers, oils and balms of the Romans, the Byzantines, the Mediterranean, the Levant, Northern China, Eastern Europe, Iran, the Bulgar-Kypchak, Mesopotamia, the Crimean Peninsula, Anatolia, Antioch, and North Africa.
Skuld - Ylang ylang, honey, Egyptian and Arabian musks and labdanum.
Sybaris x2 - Bright violet with sweet clove, Mediterranean incense notes and tonka bean.
The Apothecary - Tea leaf with three mosses, green grass, a medley of herbal notes, and a drop of ginger and fig
The Unicorn -
Troll - vetiver, pine pitch, troll musk, black basil, clove smoke, and scorched cumin.
Tzadikim Nistarim - Frankincense, olive, spikenard, hyssop and galangal
Umbra - East African black patchouli, cedarwood, vetiver and a dribble of cinnamon
Water of Notre Dame x2 - Very green and fresh.
Whitechapel - White musk, lime, lilac and citron.
White Rabbit - Strong black tea and milk with white pepper, ginger, honey and vanilla, spilled over the crisp scent of clean linen (Alice in Wonderland)
Wrath - A scent aflame with rage, swirling in the red haze of hatred: dragon's blood spiked with black pepper, clove, and cinnamon

Possessa ferus pectora versat Amor.

razothredfire — Thu, 19 Feb 2009 18:27:49 GMT

Sic erit; haeserunt tenues in corde sagittae,

Et possessa ferus pectora versat Amor.

Cedimus, an subitum luctando accendimus ignem?

Cedamus! leve fit, quod bene fertur, onus.

~Ovid

Cat Haiku.

razothredfire — Thu, 19 Feb 2009 18:25:35 GMT

You never feed me.
Perhaps I'll sleep on your face.
That will sure show you.

You must scratch me there!
Yes, above my tail!
Behold, elevator butt.

The rule for today:
Touch my tail, I shred your hand.
New rule tomorrow.

In deep sleep hear sound
cat vomit hairball somewhere
will find in morning.

Grace personified.
I leap into the window.
I meant to do that.

Blur of motion, then --
silence, me, a paper bag.
What is so funny?

The mighty hunter
Returns with gifts of plump birds --
your foot just squashed one.

You're always typing.
Well, let's see you ignore my
sitting on your hands.

My small cardboard box.
You cannot see me if I
can just hide my head.

Terrible battle.
I fought for hours. Come and see!
What's a 'term paper?'

Small brave carnivores
Kill pine cones and mosquitoes,
Fear vacuum cleaner

I want to be close
to you. Can I fit my head
inside your armpit?

Wanna go outside.
Oh, crap! Help! I got outside!
Let me back inside!

Oh no! Big One
has been trapped by newspaper!
Cat to the rescue!

Humans are so strange.
Mine lies still in bed, then screams;
My claws are not that sharp.

Cats meow out of angst
"Thumbs! If only we had thumbs!
We could break so much!"

The Big Ones snore now
Every room is dark and cold
Time for "Cup Hockey"
We're almost equals
I purr to show I love you
Want to smell my butt?

Hair hanging, straight, long
One of my favorite things
Female visitors.

I seek new places
Cupboard doors hide secret realms
Meow when I get stuck.

I like to roll dice
From the box, one at a time
I will steal them all.

The food in my bowl
Is old and more to the point
Contains no tuna.

So you want to play.
Will I claw at dancing string?
Your ankle's closer.

Seeking solitude
I am locked in the closet.
For once I need you.

Tiny can, dumped in
Plastic bowl. Presentation,
One star; service: none.

Am I in your way?
You seem to have it backwards:
This pillow's taken.

Your mouth is moving;
Up and down, emitting noise.
I've lost interest.

The dog wags his tail,
Seeking approval. See mine?
Different message.

My brain: walnut-sized.
Yours: largest among primates.
Yet, who leaves for work?

Most problems can be
Ignored. The more difficult
Ones can be slept through.

My affection is
conditional. Don't stand up
It's your lap I love.

Toy mice, dancing yarn
Meowing sounds. I'm convinced:
You're an idiot.

This is so very like me, it's kinda hilarious.

razothredfire — Wed, 18 Feb 2009 23:11:11 GMT

Apparently I also have trouble restraining laughter and interesting facial expressions. People always ask me "what are you smiling about?" And I always respond "Oh, nothing." XD

razothredfire — Mon, 16 Feb 2009 09:01:57 GMT

Oh! did those eyes, instead of fire,
With bright, but mild affection shine:
Though they might kindle less desire,
Love, more than mortal, would be thine.

For thou art form'd so heavenly fair,
Howe'er those orbs may wildly beam,
We must admire, but still despair;
That fatal glance forbids esteem.

When Nature stamp'd thy beauteous birth,
So much perfection in thee shone,
She fear'd that, too divine for earth,
The skies might claim thee for their own.

Therefore, to guard her dearest work,
Lest angels might dispute the prize,
She bade a secret lightning lurk,
Within those once celestial eyes.

These might the boldest Sylph appall,
When gleaming with meridian blaze;
Thy beauty must enrapture all;
But who can dare thine ardent gaze?

'Tis said that Berenice's hair,
In stars adorns the vault of heaven;
But they would ne'er permit thee there,
Who wouldst so far outshine the seven.

For did those eyes as planets roll,
Thy sister-lights would scarce appear:
E'en suns, which systems now control,
Would twinkle dimly through their sphere.
~Lord Byron

Thy cheek is pale with thought, but not from woe,
And yet so lovely, that if Mirth could flush
Its rose of whiteness with the brightest blush,
My heart would wish away that ruder glow:
And dazzle not thy deep-blue eyes---but, oh!
While gazing on them sterner eyes will gush,
And into mine my mother's weakness rush,
Soft as the last drops round Heaven's airy bow.
For, though thy long dark lashes low depending,
The soul of melancholy Gentleness
Gleams like a Seraph from the sky descending,
Above all pain, yet pitying all distress;
At once such majesty with sweetness blending,
I worship more, but cannot love thee less.
~Lord Byron

Between your sheets you soundly sleep
Nor dreams of vigils that we lovers keep
While all the night, I waking sign your name,
The tender sound does every nerve inflame,
Imagination shows me all your charms,
The plenteous silken hair, and waxen arms,
The well turned neck, and snowy rising breast
And all the beauties that supinely rest
between your sheets.
~Lady Mary Wortley Montagu

Meme Thingee.

razothredfire — Fri, 13 Feb 2009 08:52:39 GMT

A: People who have been tagged must write their answers on their blog and replace any question that they dislike with a new, original question.
B: Tag eight people. Don't refuse to do that. Don't tag who tagged you.

I tag anyone that wants to do this.

[1] Make a list of 5 things you can see:
1) Laptop
2) Venetian Harlequin Mask
3) Cat
4) CD Stacks
5) Snake Cage

[2] Would you ever get plastic surgery?
Depends on what it was.

[3] What are 5 things you usually keep in your pocket/bag/wallet?
1) Check Card
2) At least ONE book
3) iPod
4) vial/bottle of BPAL scent
5) EpiPen in case of BEE ATTACKS. :o

[4] What person in your life has made the biggest impact on you?
Sadly, probably still Asha.

[5] What is your dream occupation? (It doesn't have to be realistic)
Helping good books get movie deals, writing what I enjoy and making money at it, working as a secret backroom cataloger again. >_>

[6] Would you rather lose an arm or have an incurable headache for the rest of your life?
Arm. Take it. D:

[7] Who is the last person you hugged?
Daniel.

[8] What is your current obsession?
The Dark Knight.

[9] What's the last text message you received?
G'night.

[10] What sites do you always visit when you go online?
Livejournal, Gmail, Hotmail.

[11] Last thing you bought?
Pack of Coke.

[12] What random useless fact did you learn today?
One of the Naxxramas bosses is called The Dancer as a nickname.

[13] What do you usually drink in the morning?
Cranberry juice.

[14] What would you tell your 12 year old self if you could?
Do. Not. Trust. Her. Get away now and never look back.

[15] If you could play any musical instrument what one would you play?
I already play a few, but I'd like to learn guitar, violin, or hammered dulcimer.

[16] Do you have any siblings?
One younger brother.

[17] What's something you would like to say to someone right now?
Please give me a chance.

[18] If you could go anywhere in the world, where would you go?
Japan or Norway.

[19] What’s your favorite kind of weather?
Depends on the day, actually, but I rather like dark and foggy.

[20] What's the last Movie you saw?
Taken.

Eff no.

razothredfire — Sat, 24 Jan 2009 04:27:14 GMT

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/europe/belgium/4326830/Joker-knifeman-kills-children-and-worker-in-Belgian-creche.html

razothredfire — Tue, 20 Jan 2009 09:36:50 GMT

http://www.downelink.com/

I had never heard of this site before I watched a GLBTQA documentary called Out At Work.
I think you guys should check it out. ^_^

Slipping Into Entropy - Chapter Update

razothredfire — Thu, 15 Jan 2009 07:57:11 GMT

Title: Slipping Into Entropy
Authors: razothredfire & loony_lucifer
Rating: Mature
Notes: Batman(Bruce)/Joker

( Slipping Into Entropy - Part 31 )
( Slipping Into Entropy - Part 32 - NSFW )
( Slipping Into Entropy - Part 33 )
( Slipping Into Entropy - Part 34 )
( Slipping Into Entropy - Part 35 - NSFW )
( Slipping Into Entropy - Part 36 )
( Slipping Into Entropy - Part 37 )
( Slipping Into Entropy - Part 38 - NSFW )
( Slipping Into Entropy - Part 39 - NSFW )

To All Previous Chapters

I do not always announce newly posted chapters promptly on the Batman communities. If you wish to be notified when a new chapter is out, please consider watching the Into Entropy community itself. More goodies are available there as well, such as artwork, fanworks, soundtrack and comic posts, and more.

Posted to batman_slash, batmanjoker, darkknightfic, knightandjoker, knivesandlint, and razothredfire

Everyone Should Read This.

razothredfire — Thu, 15 Jan 2009 03:23:59 GMT

http://www.cracked.com/article_14990_what-monkeysphere.html

LEDGER WINS GOLDEN GLOBE AWARD.

razothredfire — Mon, 12 Jan 2009 03:19:05 GMT

http://www.cnn.com/2009/SHOWBIZ/Movies/01/11/golden.globes/index.html

EFF YES.

I HAS NEW ICONS.

razothredfire — Sat, 10 Jan 2009 00:50:21 GMT

ZOMG GO LOOK. :D

I'm just really friggin happy about it. One of the best Xmas presents I've ever gotten.

Dreams.

razothredfire — Sat, 29 Nov 2008 17:18:31 GMT

Normal people dream normal things.

I seem to constantly dream the abnormal, at least in relation to what most other do. So I dreamt of the evils of the Target Corporation that I experienced over several years, finally multiplying on itself and causing an employee to go postal in a store. Sadly, the end result wasn't traced back to the source of employee's distress and no changes were made - it was blamed on inherent psychosis and the business practices continued as usual.

Second round of dreaming involved a huge worldwide apocalypse, and trying to survive it.

Sometimes it's nice because it gives me interesting ideas to write about or roleplay. Today, however, is one of those times where instead of feeling rested, I feel more exhausted, depressed, and pessimistic than usual.

Makes it even funnier than I now have to venture into the nearby Target to restock some essentials I need. I suppose on the positive side, I'm one of those rare people now who is actually thoughtful to and sympathetic of salesclerks. Having been through that hell, I try to bright a little light to their day, or at least be one less crabby jerk they have to deal with.

I honestly think every adult, working person should be forced to spend at least 6 months working retail - preferably the worst retail position available. I think less people would thoughtlessly treat each other like shit if they'd been through that crucible themselves.

Slipping Into Entropy - Part 30

razothredfire — Mon, 17 Nov 2008 22:04:40 GMT

Title: Slipping Into Entropy
Authors: razothredfire & loony_lucifer
Rating: Mature
Notes: Batman(Bruce)/Joker

( Slipping Into Entropy - Part 30 )
( Slipping Into Entropy - The Massive Soundtrack Post )

To All Previous Chapters

Posted to batman_slash, batmanjoker, darkknightfic, knightandjoker, knivesandlint, and razothredfire

Slipping Into Entropy - Chapter Updates

razothredfire — Thu, 13 Nov 2008 20:36:29 GMT

Title: Slipping Into Entropy
Authors: razothredfire & loony_lucifer
Rating: Mature
Notes: Batman(Bruce)/Joker

( Slipping Into Entropy - Part 25 )
( Slipping Into Entropy - Part 26 )
( Slipping Into Entropy - Part 27 )
( Slipping Into Entropy - Part 28 )
( Slipping Into Entropy - Part 29 )

To All Previous Chapters

Posted to batman_slash, batmanjoker, darkknightfic, knightandjoker, knivesandlint, and razothredfire

razothredfire — Tue, 28 Oct 2008 13:31:14 GMT

Doc Constantine.

Best BPAL scent ever.

Thought my fellow BPALers should know. XD

The only sad bit? Brian Constantine probably cannot smell how awesome his character's oil is, being as he's a chain smoker. My guess is he runs the businessy things while Beth crafts all the product formulas.

In short, I think I've found my signature scent.

Slipping Into Entropy - Part 24

razothredfire — Fri, 10 Oct 2008 00:42:48 GMT

Title: Slipping Into Entropy
Authors: razothredfire & loony_lucifer
Rating: Mature
Notes: Batman(Bruce)/Joker

( Slipping Into Entropy - Part 24 )

To All Previous Chapters

Posted to batman_slash, batmanjoker, darkknightfic, knightandjoker, knivesandlint, and razothredfire