If there is a way to find you, I will find you—

If there is a way to find you, I will find you— - Let's mix it up!

(of course i have ghosts)

[	book of hours	\|	what it is	]
[	book of years	\|	& how it is	]

Let's mix it up!

[Aug. 21st, 2008|05:02 pm]

[

Tags

sandman, the dark knight

]

Title: Rivalries
Fandom: The Dark Knight (Nolanverse)/Sandman crossover. Yes, I've cracked.
Pairing/Characters: Batman/Joker, nearly all of the Endless
Rating: PG-13/R
Notes: As with The Dreams of Others, I'm once again compelled to see what an injection of graphic-novel influence will do to the Nolanverse. Granted, the Endless are not going to be interacting with anybody directly; this story's more an exploration of what meddling they might be doing just beyond the fabric of reality. It seems to me that the Endless would take a keen interest in such an epic struggle as this one (or passing interest, depending on which one of them we're talking about). This time, my apologies are not only to Dave McKean, but also to Neil Gaiman. Sir, I worship the 'net you blog on; you'd have my head for the Good Omens infractions alone.
Summary: Kindred is as kindred does, and humans aren't any different.

I. Twins

Revolving mirrors: there may be two, or there may be four. For now, consider it two, but know that each of them has two faces. Of each of these, only one is a window.

Desire takes great pleasure in watching humans apply make-up. For as often as its own face is painted, most humans make the gesture seem redundant, daily, meaningless. This man, however - this man that Desire stands watching, arms wound around itself in terse angles of pleasure - makes the gesture seem a ritual, ablution, benediction. His tongue flicks out at intervals, tentative, and the dark eyes widen with critical, expressive severity. The hollows beneath his eyebrows aren't dark enough, and the ensuing assault of the mascara brush is calculated, careful, anything but random. And then his fists grind in, and flickers of sheer pleasure swim before Desire's golden stare. Whatever else he may be, this man is an artist.

Beside Desire, a disgruntled growl erupts from Despair's raw throat.

Her mirror reflects an image that seems almost disconnected, irrelevant: a shirtless, haggard young man of about thirty sits collapsed in an office chair before a meaningless display of monitors. The chair is badly out of place, for the room in which he sits is not an office. In fact, it is not a room at all, and Despair, despite the sounds she is making, is enjoying the scenery. Every so often, the image in the mirror pans to the cavernous ceiling above the young man's head, and bats swoop this way and that, chittering without cease. Despair's eyes move back to the young man, whose neck and shoulders are covered with livid bruises. He swivels the chair so that she can see him in profile, doubling over on himself with a silent groan. Even in profile, his features radiate exhaustion. A moment later, he straightens up and turns back to the monitors, his face reflected back in lines of grim determination.

Revolving mirrors: there may be two, there may be four, or there may be none at all.

II. Brothers

"He has chosen his path," said Destiny, idly flipping pages. "Or perhaps it has chosen him. One can never be clear on these things. What's done is done."

Destruction shifted from foot to foot - before too long, he'd need new hiking boots - and idly peered over his brother's shoulder. He had hoped they wouldn't spend the entire visit, as rare an occasion as it was, poring over that God-forsaken old tome. Destiny, it seemed, had other things on his mind: a mortal by the name of Bruce Wayne and a force of devastation clothed in human flesh.

"Why these two?" Destruction asked, keeping his tone cheerful. "Do they amuse you?"

"No," Destiny admitted, his voice as flat and placid as always, "but they interest me. It is not often that two mortals with such strong senses of...purpose revolve into the same orbit. They have occupied these pages, and I have been content to read them."

"You mean read your book, you daft fool," Destruction muttered affectionately.

"I mean precisely what I say," replied Destiny, shrugging. His cowl seemed to hang lower, more ominous than usual. Abruptly, one thin, reedy finger shot out from the edge of the page, pointing and retaining its grasp all at once. "Do you see?"

"Of course I see," Destruction laughed, a rumbling that reverberated off the towering statues around them. "My money's on the clown, just you wait!"

Destiny shrugged again and switched direction in his eternal pacing.

III. Companions

Just a girl and her dog: there are no two ways about it. The girl might be a young woman, and the dog might be an old man. Don't think too hard about this one.

Most nights, they sit in a vast meadow in the middle of nowhere out beneath the stars. Delirium's mind, ever-restless, conjures a constellation of multi-colored comets: these are the fireworks that she had so dearly hoped to see. They would have been beautiful. Spellbinding. Bang. People-parts in a pretty dead rainbow across the sky!

Beside her, the dog whines and covers its eyes with both paws.

But what it might have said was, "Not this again." But you know that dogs can't speak.

"I dunno," Delirium says, almost thoughtfully, flipping a wild, fire-engine curl out of her mismatched eyes. "It might have been very nice for him. Ummm. The one that doesn't know how to have a good time. You know! Bats in the belfry." She illustrates by fluttering her hands on either side of her head, sporting an impish grin.

"This is a good example of why dumb dogs devote their lives to people."

"Well, I'm not a person. At least not today. I might be...I don't know, a...a cricket. Or a telephone jack. Or a piece of pumpkin pie. Or - "

The fireworks crescendo in a hiss of terrible laughter. Delirium shivers and reaches for Barnabas, pulling him close. Exasperated, he twists his head and licks her nose.

"I miss my brother," she whispers, and does not say which one.

IV. Lovers

"Of course I do," said Death, folding her arms across her chest. The ankh rattled.

"Because it would seem to me," Daniel said, carefully, moving one of his black pawns forward two squares, "that you're the deepest in denial of them all."

"In denial about what? That this isn't going to end well? Oh, no, believe me: it won't." She unfolded her arms and made straight for her remaining white bishop, knocking out Daniel's pawn in one fluid motion. "Humans in stupid costumes with access to complicated equipment and a lot of explosives are usually a recipe for disaster."

"And there you'll be," mused Daniel, leaning back and steepling his fingers. "Spreading wide your arms to welcome them home. Do you think they want oblivion?"

Death narrowed her eyes at him. "Just move already!"

Daniel clucked his tongue. "You didn't answer my question."

"I think they want each other, but never mind. If you don't get your skinny ass in gear, I'll - "

Daniel leaned forward and moved his knight into position, smirking.

"God, I hate you," said Death, moving her queen out of harm's way to no avail. "I really hate you. And have I mentioned you're an even bigger jerk than he was?"

"You've mentioned many things," said Daniel, his fingers poised over the knight. "Shall I retreat and spare you? As mercifully, perhaps, as you're sparing them?"

Death was glaring at him now, her pale hands fisted at the corners of the table.

"Temper temper," said Daniel, smiling coolly, and took her queen with his rook.

Link

Comments:

From:

destinyawakened
2008-08-21 04:23 pm (UTC)

(Link)

Now I want to marry you. I love the Endless!
I need to go download that series now and reread.
hmm..I loved this by the way. but you dont write anything I dont love.

And this really makes me want a Sandman Movie directed by Nolan.