== (wants) wrote in rooms, @ 2015-10-01 06:07:00 |
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The authorities, per usual, as a matter of substandard course, failed in their duty to the students of Gotham University; they failed in their duty to the citizens of Gotham at large. They did nothing. Joker—and that was who it was, no doubt about it—had made his threat explicit, as was his way, gaudy and garish in red, green, purple, and white, laughter that rang out madly from speakers, at a volume almost loud enough to drive anyone forced to listen too long as insane as he was, bombs, and still the campus wasn't evacuated. Classes carried on. It was nothing but a prank, the official emails reported. Nothing to be worried about. Damian knew better.—Of course, there was no mention of the nameless boy who had been the first, but certainly not last, victim of the Joker's harmless mischief. And there never would be. Damian would never understand the absolute incompetence of those around him. With the exception of Barbara (who he was trying with unwavering al Ghul determination not to think about), every single person he knew, different as they were from what was familiar, was a disappointment. Perhaps it ought to've been comforting that that fact remained true, no matter the timeline. It was not. The boy in black—no Robin suit here—simply chose not to dwell on it just then. His phone was tucked away in the nylon bag that hung from his shoulders and, it was out of sight, out of mind. He had more important matters to attend to. The bell tower to turn off the grating laughter being first and foremost. Like he told Barbara, it wouldn't be difficult. The bell tower at the center of campus was an easy climb. Without any proper security, without anything more than yellow floodlights that did not even reach past the second story, Damian scaled the building quickly, all without breaking a sweat.—Without his costume, he made do with trackpants and a windbreaker, everything kept tight so as not to catch on anything and to increase speed and decrease weight, and the blotted black of the outfit blended him into the shadows that crowded like crows on the eaves of the tower. Gloved fingers caught stone ledge on the campanile's dome, and it was with only a little bit of leverage and a measured amount of momentum, that Damian eased himself through the columns and into the grill and metal wilderness of the carillon. Without fear of the dark, with fear at all, he made his way into the belfry, eyes open for the equipment Barbara had mentioned. The sound of a switch being flipped clicked in the darkness and the lights inside of the clocktower blinked awake. They were only Christmas lights strung haphazardly, the way a deranged person would. With love, but no care. Enthusiasm, but no finesse. Inside of the dome, gears ticked nosily overhead. They were massive, metal and impressive things that were surely built by an expert craftsman, only to be spray painted over by the Joker. There were lines of purple and green all over the gears, spread directionless across with glee. It felt as though the eyes drawn on the clock outside were peering in, watching the party about to unfold. “CONGRATS, BATMAN! YOU DID IT!” The recorded voice of Joker sounded from a cheap speaker nearby. His voice was pitched up so that he resembled a cheery cartoon chipmunk. “HERE’S YOUR PRIIIIIIIZEE!” The voice strained, morphed and then ended in static as suddenly with a poof! clouds of pea-soup green smoke were released into the clocktower. It was thick, clinging and smelled faintly of tap water near ACE Chemicals. The smoke acted immediately, pushing into Damian’s lungs to set his mind on fire. A little trick meant for Batman. Not permanent harm, no, no. Something nice. A present. A taste of what he could do to the whole city. Slowly, Damian’s vision would brighten as if someone had lifted the curtain to a wonderful circus. Beautiful confetti colored dots danced around his vision, giving him a feeling that nothing mattered, nothing was real and everything was funny. If he turned to look out over the college campus and Gotham City, in the distance, he’d see a carnival. Bright lights sparkling where there were none. Imaginary killer bunnies hopping around in the street. Parades of elephants and clowns, instead of cars. The smell of popcorn in the air with the taste of cotton candy on his tongue. But, most of all Damian would feel the urge to kill. To find people who were not singing and smiling along with the carnival before him. It would make him want to bleed them dry like the piggies they were! The very thought of stabbing someone in their sleep or screaming up against an alleyway dumpster would bring a smile to his face. In fact, it’d make him want to laugh! Laugh without ever ever stopping!! |