SilentBob173
06-13-2001, 05:21 PM
I know people are pushing the 'one thread' method, but I just don't believe in it. Story is nearing completion.
Cheers.
Jason S
--
Four months had passed. Everyday since, Jack had no problems at all with his suppressed past. He lived happily. He worked in the mailroom of one of the many offices of Wayne Enterprises. He walked everywhere with a smile. A pleasant smile. At home, the first thing he would was put on Pachelbel’s Canon. Life was good.
--
Nightwing stood in the shadows. A group of kids were huddled in an alley. They had a bag of something. Something illegal. Nightwing waited for the right moment.
He had been in Bludhaven for almost four months now. It wasn’t Gotham, but it suited him fine.
He waited. The first kid pinched some of the contents of the bag and rolled it in some paper.
Nightwing waited.
The kid patted all his pockets and found a lighter.
Nightwing waited.
With a flick of the thumb, the flame was lit.
Nightwing waited.
He brought the flame to the tip of the joint.
Nightwing waited.
The tip of the joint lighted.
Nightwing moved.
By the time Nightwing had moved the five feet to the teenagers, they were all laid out on the pavement.
Nightwing cursed. He knew what put them there.
“Dick.”
“Bruce, leave. Now. Before something bad happens to you.”
“Don’t threaten me, Dick. I want you to come back.”
Nightwing started to walk away. “Not interested.”
“I also came.... to apologize.”
Nightwing stopped.
“Look, I know I’m hard to work with. I know I’m set in my ways. I know I cross the line far too often. Now, I want you know that I re-offer my hand in friendship. Dick, the team needs you.”
Nightwing stood in silence for a moment.
“**** off, Bruce.”
Batman grabbed a hold of Dick’s shoulder’s and spun him around.
“I came a long way to come and get you.”
Nightwing punched Batman hard across the face.
“Now turn around and go back the same way you came. You’re not wanted here.”
Batman was suddenly in front of him, and pushed Nightwing to the ground.’
“You’re acting like a child, Dick.”
Nightwing pushed Batman off of him, pinning him to the ground and reached for something out of his belt.
“No...”
Nightwing brought his knife to Batman’s face.
“I’m acting like you.”
The knife made a trail of blood as it cut deep into Batman’s face, started from just below his eye, past his cheek.
Nightwing got up. “There. Now go home, Bruce.” He began walking backwards. “You’ve got something to remember me by. I shouldn’t have to come with you.” He had backed into the middle of the street.
A bus speedily passed in front of him. When it had completely gone by, Nightwing was gone.
Batman clutched his bleeding face, and was gone just as quickly.
--
Jack Napier had grown quite accustomed to classical music. It had layers of unspeakable beauty to him. He knew nothing like it. He walked through the office with headphones on as he pushed the mail cart, listening to, usually, something like Mozart, Beethoven, or Salieri.
He walked into the mailroom, having just distributed the day’s mail. He took off his headphones and turned to reach for something high upon the shelf. He heard footsteps behind him.
Something came across the back oh his head hard. He fell unconscious. Someone else laughed with satisfaction
--
Bruce Wayne looked at the cut in his bathroom mirror. The bleeding had stopped, but he knew this kind of cut. It would be a permanent scar. Everything that had happened thus far seemed to be a permanent scar in one way or the other.
Cheers.
Jason S
--
Four months had passed. Everyday since, Jack had no problems at all with his suppressed past. He lived happily. He worked in the mailroom of one of the many offices of Wayne Enterprises. He walked everywhere with a smile. A pleasant smile. At home, the first thing he would was put on Pachelbel’s Canon. Life was good.
--
Nightwing stood in the shadows. A group of kids were huddled in an alley. They had a bag of something. Something illegal. Nightwing waited for the right moment.
He had been in Bludhaven for almost four months now. It wasn’t Gotham, but it suited him fine.
He waited. The first kid pinched some of the contents of the bag and rolled it in some paper.
Nightwing waited.
The kid patted all his pockets and found a lighter.
Nightwing waited.
With a flick of the thumb, the flame was lit.
Nightwing waited.
He brought the flame to the tip of the joint.
Nightwing waited.
The tip of the joint lighted.
Nightwing moved.
By the time Nightwing had moved the five feet to the teenagers, they were all laid out on the pavement.
Nightwing cursed. He knew what put them there.
“Dick.”
“Bruce, leave. Now. Before something bad happens to you.”
“Don’t threaten me, Dick. I want you to come back.”
Nightwing started to walk away. “Not interested.”
“I also came.... to apologize.”
Nightwing stopped.
“Look, I know I’m hard to work with. I know I’m set in my ways. I know I cross the line far too often. Now, I want you know that I re-offer my hand in friendship. Dick, the team needs you.”
Nightwing stood in silence for a moment.
“**** off, Bruce.”
Batman grabbed a hold of Dick’s shoulder’s and spun him around.
“I came a long way to come and get you.”
Nightwing punched Batman hard across the face.
“Now turn around and go back the same way you came. You’re not wanted here.”
Batman was suddenly in front of him, and pushed Nightwing to the ground.’
“You’re acting like a child, Dick.”
Nightwing pushed Batman off of him, pinning him to the ground and reached for something out of his belt.
“No...”
Nightwing brought his knife to Batman’s face.
“I’m acting like you.”
The knife made a trail of blood as it cut deep into Batman’s face, started from just below his eye, past his cheek.
Nightwing got up. “There. Now go home, Bruce.” He began walking backwards. “You’ve got something to remember me by. I shouldn’t have to come with you.” He had backed into the middle of the street.
A bus speedily passed in front of him. When it had completely gone by, Nightwing was gone.
Batman clutched his bleeding face, and was gone just as quickly.
--
Jack Napier had grown quite accustomed to classical music. It had layers of unspeakable beauty to him. He knew nothing like it. He walked through the office with headphones on as he pushed the mail cart, listening to, usually, something like Mozart, Beethoven, or Salieri.
He walked into the mailroom, having just distributed the day’s mail. He took off his headphones and turned to reach for something high upon the shelf. He heard footsteps behind him.
Something came across the back oh his head hard. He fell unconscious. Someone else laughed with satisfaction
--
Bruce Wayne looked at the cut in his bathroom mirror. The bleeding had stopped, but he knew this kind of cut. It would be a permanent scar. Everything that had happened thus far seemed to be a permanent scar in one way or the other.