(OOC) Jokermitter says, "The safehouse is an indistinguishable suburban
house in an indistinguishable suburban neighborhood. @emit at will." 

Its evening in Irving Grove. Families are inside their homes, seated
around the dinner table, or trying to find something to do without their
beloved TV. The warm summer hair seems less steamy here, and the song of a
few birds signals the coming twilight over sleepy suburban Gotham.
Somewhere in the green lawns and patios, however, something is lurking. A
tree's boughs bend slightly over a fence, and a night creature makes its
arrival in the backyard of one of many bland houses. 

The bland house is lit from the kitchen, and from the open window wafts
the smell of pot roast cooking. A middle-aged woman crosses the window,
wiping her hands on a towel. The sound of a Kawatendo home video game
machine bleeps and bloops from a different window. A family lives here? 

Batman thinks . o O (...either I've come all this way for nothing...or
this is some twisted cover of the Joker's devising...chances are pretty
good its the latter.) 

The woman looks out in the back yard for a moment, her eyes searching the
shadows. "Kids!" she cries. "Supper's ready." She turns from the window. 

Batman creeps up to one of the quiet little houses' side walls. He stops,
almost out of habit, and can't help but note the strangeness of the
situation. He eyes a three-wheeler parked on the grass by his feet as he
removes a small black box with a set of wires from his belt. He flicks a
switch, and places a suction cup-like clear disc on a window.
Adjusting...filtering...he tunes the parabolic listening device's spectrum
through the house. 

There is the clatter of kids' footsteps in the house. The voices fade in
and out. "Doris." one of the kids whines, "I want ice cream." Doris turns
out to be the woman. "Be quiet and eat your vegetables." she says. The
kids eat quietly, almost dutifully. The woman visits the dining room
window no less than four times during the meal, but from the angle of the
window, it's impossible for her to see Batman's listening post. 

Batman scowls. He carefully filters out some of the background noise, and
keeps up his vigil. 

Dinner is pot roast and unspecified vegetables. The kids wolf it down in
record time, apparently. Doris says "Chew your food ten times. You don't
want to end up in the hospital." Finally, as a small voice says "May I be
excused?" The woman says "No, no... we need to have a talk...uh. We may
have to leave here soon." A chorus of 'no's and 'I don't wanna's and
whines arises from the knot of kids. Maybe four. "Something's happened."
she says. "And, uh, we may have to leave. I don't want to either, but." 

Batman eyes the other windows around the house, as best he can from his
current position. 

Three big ones to the back yard: one kitchen, one dining room, one
hallway. (Bruce is on that one.) On the side of the house, if this house
is true to established Irving Grove form and matches the umpteen other
houses on either side, are two bedroom windows. And of course in front,
there's the den window. The woman says "I don't know...I just thought you
should know. So if we have to pack quickly, we can. So pick up your room,
and..." She seems on the verge of hysteria. "And, well, just be ready." 

Silently, the Dark Knight removes the parabolic dish, and pulls himself
onto the roof of the house. He stalks across it, and leans over the other
end to look upside down into one of the bedroom windows. 

The bedroom is empty except for a futon cushion that has been spread on
the floor: Mutant Force sheets have been spread awkwardly across it. Kids'
clothes litter the floor. Other than that, the room is absolutely bare, no
pictures on the walls, no furniture, nothing.

Batman pulls the window open, and drops in. He listens for any approaching
footfalls on the carpet, and then sidesteps over to the door leading out. 

The door leading out is half-open. Kids footsteps thump hurriedly along
it, small shadows cross the door. Yes, there are four, headed back towards
the other bedroom, small whispers about where they think they're going.
One brags that he'll burn the orphanage down if they try to take him back.

Batman thinks . o O (Orphans. Damn.)

Batman takes a small intake of breath. He slips out into the hallway, and
turns to find the adult member(s) of the household, truly dark thoughts
roiling in his mind. 

A phone buzzes in the kitchen, an electronic sound, possibly a cellular
phone. As Batman approaches through the dark, he can hear her querulous
voice saying "H...hello? W-what?" 

Batman silently approaches, stopping just out of 'Doris's field of vision.
He takes a small batdart with a small sleep toxin on its tip, and waits,
ears straining. . o O (He's using orphans...'adopting' them for his own
sick ploys. And getting away with it.)

She sound panicked. "-Here-? When? -WHEN-? Oh, god...oh, god...no, the
kids are fine...oh, god." She has her back to the door. She looks
undernourished, and her clothes are on closer examination, secondhand. 
"What's he going to -do-, Jimmy?" she whines. " I've had this feeling all
night..." 

Batman looks at the woman with little pity. He doesn't need to know what
brought her to this sad state. Or what role she's playing the grand scheme
of the Clown Prince of Crime's games. He only knows one thing; She's
participating in the exploitation of children. Orphaned children. His
bones go cold as he listens. But he manages to wait. 

The woman doesn't turn around, she just leans on the counter. "Oh, no, no,
no." she whines. "No, he -can't-...he -can't-...Jimmy? Hello? Hello?" 
There is the sound of a car outside, approaching and slowing at the
driveway. She jerks to her feet with energy, whirling around and half into
her stride before she notices the Batman. "Kii..." the cry dies in her
throat as her panicked expression just slides down into shock. 

Batman grasps the woman's wrists, and looks into her eyes...meaningfully.
He covers her mouth, and moves out of view of the front and back doors. He
whispers into Doris's ear. "...who's just arrived?" 

The woman lets out an eep sound, then "I...don't know. It could be...him."
very quietly. She is utterly frozen. 

The car doors SLAM. The engine keeps running.

The thought moves through Batman's mind like an icy dagger. Him. Here.
Unsuspecting. Images play themselves in slow motion in his mind for a
brief moment; things he'd like to do to him. Wrenching himself back into
the moment, he whispers harshly to Doris again. "You're going to go to the
children. And keep them safe. And quiet. Or else. I'll deal with our visitor."

Doris nods frantically. "Okay." she hisses. "We'll go over the back
fence." 

Batman slips a tracer on Doris's collar as she moves away from him. 

Doris doesn't notice. She swiftly moves towards the back room, down the
hallway. Footsteps, more than one man, less than four, approach the front
door quickly. 

The Caped Cruasder walks to place himself on the inner angle of the front
door. He clenches a gloved fist, tensing and going over his tactical
options for when he does strike. 

The den is equally empty as the bedroom, only curtains cover the front
window, to disguise it's emptiness from the street. The door opens and two
men in dark suits stand silhouetted in the doorframe. Behind them, looking
away from the house, is an infinitely more familiar silhouette, his broad
hat black against the black sky, his spindly arms gesturing in the middle
of some sentence. (It is, perhaps, a sad thought that Batman is so
familiar with his nemesis that even in a miniscule tableaux like this one,
he can tell that he is in the middle of the sentence.) 

Batman begins a breathing exercize, drawing a smoke bomb from his
belt...and seems to suddenly turn from a living being into a statue.
Crouched, cape draped around his heels, fists at the ready, he simply does
nothing, and says nothing...for now. 

The two men stride into the room ahead of the Joker. "Doris!" one calls
sharply. The Joker's burbling, excitable voice is saying "...and so -she-
says, 'That's not -my- finger -either-!' Get it?" He chuckles at his own
joke with a demented giggle sneaking in, shooting up the register like a
firework. 

Batman punches through the glass in the door frame, aiming at one of the
entering associates of the Harlequin of Hate. "Got it." 

The man cries out and turns, the punch landing hard on his shoulder...his
associate curses and draws a gun. The Joker just stops his chuckle on a
dime, surprised for just a brief second, then suddenly smashing his thin,
wiry frame against the doorframe, pushing the sturdily-built door towards
Batman, hard. And his grin is back, reflected in a million splinters of
broken glass. 

Batman's arm is caught as the Joker (once again) manages to somehow catch
him off guard. He wrenches to free himself, and pushes a leg off of the
wall by his side to try and swing the door back around and free himself
before the gunman shoots. 

The door swings back around, the Joker having, in the interim, taken one
short step back, just on the doorframe outside again. "Looooo-seeeee!" he
crows. "I'm hooooo-ohhhhhhme!" The gunman tries to draw a bead, but his
friend who was punched in the shoulder has been thrown off-balance and
staggers between them, throwing an off-balance punch at the off-balance
Batman, neither being very graceful. 








In the back of the house, a woman lets out a short shriek of fear, barely
audible. Maybe nobody else notices it. Maybe nobody else cares. 

Batman takes the randomly thrown fist to the side, and doesn't seem to
note the small bruising. He swings a leg around, hoping to kick the now
very battered door back to slam into one or both of the Joker's
associates. . o O (Sloppy, Bruce...need to help the kids...) 

The door SLAMs shut right back in the Joker's face, but wouldn't you know
it, he's standing just about an inch from it. "Let me guess. You aren't
big on knock-knock jokes? Well, really, now, who is?" he purrs
melliflously. The thug regains his footing and throws a more
powerfully-backed punch at Batman's face as his partner says "Move! Move!
I got him!", his gun levelled just about midway between Batman's eyes and
chin, moving expertly around as Batman moves. These are obviously not the
bottom of the barrel.

Batman's head cocks to one side, letting out an 'UNF!". He stumbles back
and hits a tv dinner tray on a table. Resting an elbow atop the table, he
flings out his cape to try and distract the gunman. 

The gunman swerves his gun just far enough away that when the gun coughs
gently, it blows a hole in the wall next to Batman's neck. And as Batman
stumbles, the Joker nonchalantly pushes the door open again, with expert
timing, extending a purple-shoed foot out beneath Batman's, trying to trip
him. He's also whistling the theme from "Leave it To Beaver". 

Joker rests his walking stick on the ground with a flourish. He rolls his
eyes innocently up to the white empyt lightless ceiling and says "Gee,
Mom, a bat followed me home. Can I keep him?" One thug removes a sap from
his pocket, now more confident. As Batman reaches the hallway, it becomes
clear that the rear bedroom, where the kids were, is no longer occupied. 

Batman slowly draws himself up with a heavy of his shoulders. He turns to
face the houseguests, opaque eyes glaring. "Orphans..." he hisses. "Using
children." 

Joker looks down and puts a purple-gloved hand to his chest, emitting a
long, drawn out, "Moi?" The thug with the sap swings down at Batman as he
is rising. The Joker continues, brandishing his walking stick wildly. "Use
children? What do you think this is, a shoe factory in Indonesia? We're
making comedy here!" He grins down at Batman, his broad teeth white, his
ruby-red lips stretching almost inhumanly across his thin face. "Just do
it." he orates. 

THWACK. Batman reels as the sap collides with his skull. He turns, feeling
the warm, sticky wet blood on the inside of his cowl. His shoulders
slacken a little, and he bends onto a knee, then his hands. 

Joker steps forward and brings his walking stick down hard on Batman's
back. "No, honey," he says condescendingly, "you can't have a bat in the
house. What would your father think? Go take it right back where you found
it." His thin shoe arcs swiftly towards Batman's falling midsection.

Twisting with each blow, the Dark Knight pulls back his mouth over his
gritted teeth. A little blood trickles down from the cowl, down one side
of his cheek. Reaching to his belt, he whips his hand out, slashing at the
Joker's stick with a whistling sound. Upper torso swaying from the effort,
he is clearly fighting against unconciousness. 

Joker's stick is caught, and he just grins wider, bringing his foot down
savagely on Batman's upper arm. Then, when he is good and sure Batman is
just barely this side of unconscious, he leans vertiginously down and that
smile, the lips twisting and leering around the words, fill Batman's
vision. "Ah, hate to bruise that -ego- of yours, but you aren't in the
script yet, you're just a -bit- early. Do try to get well before this is
all over, hm?" Then there is a THUMP, and only a few half-remmebered words
of the Joker, as he rises and turns back towards the hallway..."Children!"
he calls musically. "Got some nice candy for you! As long as you promise
not to chew..." Then all is black.