SilverKnight
12-21-2001, 01:25 AM
--This was written for a contest on another board. It's not my best work.--
Disclaimer: I don't own Batman, nor am I trying to get any money off of this. I doubt I'd wind up making alot anyway. >shrugs<
>>Snowflakes<<
By: SilverKnight
The first flecks of snowflakes fluttered down from the velvety sky above, a precursor to the raging storm to come in mere hours.
The Dark Knight hated snow. In order for it to snow, it had to be cold. He could deal with the cold. The criminals could deal with the cold. However, a blizzard was on the verge of pelting the helpless inhabitants of Gotham. Because of the volitile front, the icy wind surging through the all but deserted city dropped the wind chill to a point somewhere below zero degrees farenheight. So cold was it, that even the petty thieves that had often preyed upon unsuspecting shoppers decided to crawl back under the rocks they came from. That left him with nothing to do.
He was not pleasant when he had nothing to do. He was forced to contemplate upon things he would have rather left in the cobwebs of the past, or in the inky darkness of his consciousness that he rarely sojourned to. When he laid eyes upon the icy pearls that fell from the heavens above, it reminded him of days he would have normally kept hidden in the mists of time. The emerald spines of the evergreen impaled him from yards away, perched upon the rooftop of a dilapidated building.
Batman hated Christmas. He hated the whole ideal of what it was supposed to represent. Peace. Love. Joy. Kindness to yourself and others. Ha. The Dark Knight was never fond of such thoughts. He was borne of violence; he was there solely to strike fear into the hearts of criminals, to make them pay for their transgressions. How could he make them pay if they decided to stay inside to spread faith and good cheer? No criminal in their right mind attempted to venture out on such an unforgiving night. Even ones that *weren't* in their right minds decided to stay locked up in their cells, singing the wrong lyrics to Christmas carols and cursing the one that had gotten them there.
He sighed to himself, looking up to the heavens as more icy crystals languidly fell, twirling in the air like ivory leaves caught in a strong draft. The silver clouds rolled along, intermixing with eachother, new formations being created out of nothingness. The Batman watched, transfixed. The tranquility of it all... He dropped his gaze to the city below, the normally bussling streets oddly quiet, the snow laying like a pristine blanket. The serinity was a far cry from the dark and gritty streets he had come to know and grow unwillingly attached to. After that night so long ago, where pearls were tainted with the black powder and red bile of death, the days of snowmen and Santa Claus were long since gone.
Santa Claus. A man that had once brought such happiness and joviality into his life, now only reminded him of what he had lost. During the aftermath, the image of a jolly man wearing a thick suit of crimson, untarnished white flaring out on the fringe had somehow lost its veneer. It tore at memories entombed by years of scar tissue. No. He had already endured those haunting images more than once after that night. He didn't want to endure them again.
And yet he did.
He shook his head. These were the same steps to a dance he had completed several times before. The innocence of the ruffling snowflakes plummeting to the ground far below... His mind was wandering, and he didn't enjoy it. But, he had nothing to do. Even the criminals weren't out.
Then why was he?
His duel with the ivory crystals had been fought for many years, each successive battle ending with the same result--a stalemate. He could neither understand what created these conflicting feelings nor could he understand the feelings themselves. Perhaps that was due to the fact that he refused to let the fight go. After all, that what his entire life had been about--the fight for justice, the fight for peace and tranquility for others that he himself could never hope to obtain. He gazed upwards, asking the pristine flakes for their opinions. Was his life doomed to fighting a losing battle? Had he truly lost everything in a haze of smoke and greed that long ago?
"Nightwing to Batman."
He blinked, his question dying in the reccesses of the tangled web he had woven. "Come in, Nightwing," he replied tersely. "Do you need assistance?"
"Yeah," he answered immediately. "I can't eat that turkey sitting in Alfred's oven *alone*, ya know."
The comm in his cowl beeped, informing him another had connected to the transmission. "Ha, I bet you *could* if you put your mind to it, boy wonder."
"Aw, Babs, you're too kind," Nightwing quipped. "Here's hoping that there's mistletoe hanging over the dining room table."
"Down, boy," she snapped cheerfully. "You better get your tight little rear-end in gear before I'm forced to spank it."
Nightwing chuckled heartily over the link, yet another blip letting the Dark Knight know of another incoming transmission. "Oh, get a room already," Robin groaned. "There *are* other people on this frequency."
"Actually, other than us, no there aren't," the feminine voice of Barbara supplied.
"Yeah, well, I'm one of 'em," he answered defensively. "So get a room."
"Oh," the acrobat teased, "so you were *eavesdropping* on me, huh?"
The younger man's reply was dead-pan. "Well, yeah."
An exsaperated scoff was heard, coupled with obviously stifled laughter. "Oh, be quiet, brat," Nightwing growled good-heartedly. "Or else I'm gonna have to give you a whuppin' on the excercise mats."
"Ha, bring it on, old man."
"Old man?!"
More laughter was heard over the line, no doubt from Barbara. "Cut it out, you two. Rob, shouldn't you be getting back home? Alfred's going to need help setting the table up."
"Pfft, sure. Leave *me* to do the dirty work," he muttered indignantly.
Nightwing snorted. "Well, we always *knew* you were good for something..."
"Ha, ha. I'll just make sure to spit on your food when I get to it," Robin huffed.
"You wouldn't," Nightwing hissed.
Barbara harrumphed. "He would. But I'd doubt you'd notice, knowing how you wolf--"
"I prefer scarf, thank you."
"--your food down anyway," she finished. "Well," she yawned, "I have to go and get changed. Dad's meeting me at home, and we're coming over to Wayne Manor. Hey, Rob, make sure to save a plate for me, okay?"
"Will do, Babs," the new boy wonder replied instantly. "Robin out."
"Ditto. Barbara out."
Simultaneously, both connections were cut, leaving only the Dark Knight and the Avenging Angel in communications. Secretly, he enjoyed listening to them bantering back and forth. Perhaps faith and good cheer wasn't as overrated as he perceived it to be. "Bruce," Nightwing spoke, "it's Christmas Eve. Not to mention it's almost midnight."
He frowned. "Your point?"
His former protege sighed. "Come home. Give the ghost of Christmas Past a day off, will ya?"
Several tiny pearls flitted by him, careening in the increasingly violent wind like a kite with its strings cut. He watched them fall, spiraling downward in erratic curves, and remembered his unasked question. His chiseled lip tugged upward ever-so-slightly. He had finally been given his answer.
--There ya go!--
Disclaimer: I don't own Batman, nor am I trying to get any money off of this. I doubt I'd wind up making alot anyway. >shrugs<
>>Snowflakes<<
By: SilverKnight
The first flecks of snowflakes fluttered down from the velvety sky above, a precursor to the raging storm to come in mere hours.
The Dark Knight hated snow. In order for it to snow, it had to be cold. He could deal with the cold. The criminals could deal with the cold. However, a blizzard was on the verge of pelting the helpless inhabitants of Gotham. Because of the volitile front, the icy wind surging through the all but deserted city dropped the wind chill to a point somewhere below zero degrees farenheight. So cold was it, that even the petty thieves that had often preyed upon unsuspecting shoppers decided to crawl back under the rocks they came from. That left him with nothing to do.
He was not pleasant when he had nothing to do. He was forced to contemplate upon things he would have rather left in the cobwebs of the past, or in the inky darkness of his consciousness that he rarely sojourned to. When he laid eyes upon the icy pearls that fell from the heavens above, it reminded him of days he would have normally kept hidden in the mists of time. The emerald spines of the evergreen impaled him from yards away, perched upon the rooftop of a dilapidated building.
Batman hated Christmas. He hated the whole ideal of what it was supposed to represent. Peace. Love. Joy. Kindness to yourself and others. Ha. The Dark Knight was never fond of such thoughts. He was borne of violence; he was there solely to strike fear into the hearts of criminals, to make them pay for their transgressions. How could he make them pay if they decided to stay inside to spread faith and good cheer? No criminal in their right mind attempted to venture out on such an unforgiving night. Even ones that *weren't* in their right minds decided to stay locked up in their cells, singing the wrong lyrics to Christmas carols and cursing the one that had gotten them there.
He sighed to himself, looking up to the heavens as more icy crystals languidly fell, twirling in the air like ivory leaves caught in a strong draft. The silver clouds rolled along, intermixing with eachother, new formations being created out of nothingness. The Batman watched, transfixed. The tranquility of it all... He dropped his gaze to the city below, the normally bussling streets oddly quiet, the snow laying like a pristine blanket. The serinity was a far cry from the dark and gritty streets he had come to know and grow unwillingly attached to. After that night so long ago, where pearls were tainted with the black powder and red bile of death, the days of snowmen and Santa Claus were long since gone.
Santa Claus. A man that had once brought such happiness and joviality into his life, now only reminded him of what he had lost. During the aftermath, the image of a jolly man wearing a thick suit of crimson, untarnished white flaring out on the fringe had somehow lost its veneer. It tore at memories entombed by years of scar tissue. No. He had already endured those haunting images more than once after that night. He didn't want to endure them again.
And yet he did.
He shook his head. These were the same steps to a dance he had completed several times before. The innocence of the ruffling snowflakes plummeting to the ground far below... His mind was wandering, and he didn't enjoy it. But, he had nothing to do. Even the criminals weren't out.
Then why was he?
His duel with the ivory crystals had been fought for many years, each successive battle ending with the same result--a stalemate. He could neither understand what created these conflicting feelings nor could he understand the feelings themselves. Perhaps that was due to the fact that he refused to let the fight go. After all, that what his entire life had been about--the fight for justice, the fight for peace and tranquility for others that he himself could never hope to obtain. He gazed upwards, asking the pristine flakes for their opinions. Was his life doomed to fighting a losing battle? Had he truly lost everything in a haze of smoke and greed that long ago?
"Nightwing to Batman."
He blinked, his question dying in the reccesses of the tangled web he had woven. "Come in, Nightwing," he replied tersely. "Do you need assistance?"
"Yeah," he answered immediately. "I can't eat that turkey sitting in Alfred's oven *alone*, ya know."
The comm in his cowl beeped, informing him another had connected to the transmission. "Ha, I bet you *could* if you put your mind to it, boy wonder."
"Aw, Babs, you're too kind," Nightwing quipped. "Here's hoping that there's mistletoe hanging over the dining room table."
"Down, boy," she snapped cheerfully. "You better get your tight little rear-end in gear before I'm forced to spank it."
Nightwing chuckled heartily over the link, yet another blip letting the Dark Knight know of another incoming transmission. "Oh, get a room already," Robin groaned. "There *are* other people on this frequency."
"Actually, other than us, no there aren't," the feminine voice of Barbara supplied.
"Yeah, well, I'm one of 'em," he answered defensively. "So get a room."
"Oh," the acrobat teased, "so you were *eavesdropping* on me, huh?"
The younger man's reply was dead-pan. "Well, yeah."
An exsaperated scoff was heard, coupled with obviously stifled laughter. "Oh, be quiet, brat," Nightwing growled good-heartedly. "Or else I'm gonna have to give you a whuppin' on the excercise mats."
"Ha, bring it on, old man."
"Old man?!"
More laughter was heard over the line, no doubt from Barbara. "Cut it out, you two. Rob, shouldn't you be getting back home? Alfred's going to need help setting the table up."
"Pfft, sure. Leave *me* to do the dirty work," he muttered indignantly.
Nightwing snorted. "Well, we always *knew* you were good for something..."
"Ha, ha. I'll just make sure to spit on your food when I get to it," Robin huffed.
"You wouldn't," Nightwing hissed.
Barbara harrumphed. "He would. But I'd doubt you'd notice, knowing how you wolf--"
"I prefer scarf, thank you."
"--your food down anyway," she finished. "Well," she yawned, "I have to go and get changed. Dad's meeting me at home, and we're coming over to Wayne Manor. Hey, Rob, make sure to save a plate for me, okay?"
"Will do, Babs," the new boy wonder replied instantly. "Robin out."
"Ditto. Barbara out."
Simultaneously, both connections were cut, leaving only the Dark Knight and the Avenging Angel in communications. Secretly, he enjoyed listening to them bantering back and forth. Perhaps faith and good cheer wasn't as overrated as he perceived it to be. "Bruce," Nightwing spoke, "it's Christmas Eve. Not to mention it's almost midnight."
He frowned. "Your point?"
His former protege sighed. "Come home. Give the ghost of Christmas Past a day off, will ya?"
Several tiny pearls flitted by him, careening in the increasingly violent wind like a kite with its strings cut. He watched them fall, spiraling downward in erratic curves, and remembered his unasked question. His chiseled lip tugged upward ever-so-slightly. He had finally been given his answer.
--There ya go!--