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cantsayidont · 29 days

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1986. This UK-market hardcover reprint annual (whose cover is allegedly by Bryan Talbot, although it doesn't look it) contains Grant Morrison's first Batman story, a moderately florid prose story with illustrations by the late Garry Leach, featuring a Catwoman obviously based more on the '60s TV show than the contemporary comics:

Even 20 years later, Morrison's prose was frequently cringe-worthy, and this is not an auspicious introduction. If you're aching to read this literary gem, I'll put the full text behind the cut.

First page:

There are secret places under the city; closed-off storm drains, obsolete subway tunnels, the cellars of demolished buildings, Down in the dark where nobody goes, there is a network, a maze of buried galleries, Down in the dark a shadow is moving.

Listen! You can almost hear its soft and steady breathing. It has found something. Something very special. The most secret place of all. The woman with green eyes looked around. Her walk through the darkness had taken the best part of three hours. She had clambered gracefully over falls of debris and waded through flooded lightless tunnels. She had walked sure-footedly in places where the sun had never shone, until at last, shimmying her slim body through a crack in the rock, she had come upon the cavern. The eye slits in her mask held scotoptic lenses that allowed her to see in the dark and when she saw what was in the cavern, a smile spread slowly across her fine-boned features. Like the Cheshire Cat she vanished down into the shadows, grinning with strong, white teeth.

Bruce Wayne thumbed the remote control. He’d had enough of the Johnny Carson Show. Not even Superman’s guest appearance could hold his attention. He wondered why his friend agreed to these chat shows and how he managed to maintain his good humour even after the old joke about wearing his underpants on the outside had been trotted out for the thousandth time. The TV went dead and Wayne stared into space. When space became boring he decided to call his butler.

At precisely that moment Alfred Pennyworth, tall, thin and immaculately dressed, opened the door.

“Master Bruce …” he began.

Wayne turned around, startled. “Alfred!” he said. “Don’t tell me you’ve added telepathy to your list of accomplishments? I was just going to give you a call. Fancy a game of chess?”

Alfred looked uneasy. “I’m afraid I shall have to decline, Master Bruce, I just popped in to let you know that the intruder alarm has been activated.”

Wayne leapt up, with an athlete’s economy of movement.

“Where?” he said, making for the door.

“In the Batcave, sir. The Trophy Room …”

Wayne was already half-way down the hall.

“Will you be requiring any assistance, sir?” Alfred called after him.

“I’ll let you know.”

Wayne disappeared round a corner. Alfred sighed, tidied the cushions on the sofa and unplugged the TV set.

So that there would be no noise, he went down by the stairs behind the grandfather clock instead of using the elevator. The lights threw his shadow ahead of him, casting a monstrous black bat shape on the

Second page:

whitewashed walls. He ran lightly through the computer vault of the Batcave and when he reached the Trophy Room he flipped a switch, activating banks of floodlights. In the sudden harsh brightness, nothing moved.

“Whoever you are you're in deep trouble,” said The Batman and his voice was deadly and as cold as December rain, “Come out!”

Nothing moved.

The Batman surveyed the Trophy Room with eyes as hard as diamond shards. This was the most impressive part of the Batcave; an enormous limestone cavern, as big as a cathedral. Down here were stored all the souvenirs of The Batman’s bizarre cases. There was a life-size mechanical Tyrannosaur from Dinosaur Island. There was a chess game with pawns as tall as men and a penny as big as a Ferris wheel. An enormous, eerily lit Joker mask leered down upon a giant dice shaker and a glass cabinet with a bat costume inside. There was an Egyptian sarcophagus and several dangerous umbrellas. There was a very tall penguin and a perfectly normal sized dollar bill. There were over a thousand trophies, free-standing or in cases, utterly strange or quite conventional. There were all these things and one thing more …

“Come out!” The Batman said again. He tilted his head and sniffed. On the edge of the slightly damp, subterranean smell of the cavern he could detect another scent He sniffed again and suddenly knew who was in there with him. He knew and was on his guard.

The woman with green eyes watched him move among the trophies and prepared to strike. She ran the thongs of a whip through her gloved fingers and waited for him to come closer, smiling all the while.

The Batman stopped in front of a shattered case and if he knew before, then this was the final confirmation of the intruder’s identity. He turned, with her name on his lips, and something came whistling through the air towards him.

“Catwoman …” He ducked and the whip smashed what remained of the glass in the cabinet.

“Fancy meeting you here,” said the Catwoman. She cast a critical eye around the cavern. “Wouldn’t stamp collecting take up a little less room?”

“How did you get in here?” The Batman asked, standing up, eyeing her warily. He knew better than to underestimate her. She cracked the whip once more, like a lion tamer.

“Oh, I thought I’d set up operations again in Gotham," she told him. “I came down searching for a new location for my Catacomb lair and instead I stumbled across this place. Lucky for me. A catastrophe for you.”

“Remind me to block up the hole after I’ve taken you back to prison,” said The Batman.

She only smiled wickedly. “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that. Once I discover exactly where under the city we are, I’ll know where to find your front door next time. And so will everybody else. Your secret will be out.”

“But you won’t find out!” The Batman said, allowing himself one icy smile to match hers. “You might have done if you hadn't given yourself away. I smelled your perfume as soon as I came down here.”

He started to advance. “And then when I saw that your cat-o-nine-taiIs was missing from its case, I was sure.”

She backed off. “I was merely reclaiming what was mine. Like a closer look?"

Suddenly the whip snaked out, lashing across Batman’s face. He pitched back, briefly blinded by razor-edged pain.

“What’s a bat but a flying mouse, after all?" he heard her say. “Let’s play cat and mouse.” Her voice grew fainter as she darted away. The Batman shook his head to clear his vision. Blinking through bruised eyelids he heard, nearby, the sound of a ratchet being pulled back.

“I see everything’s in perfect working order,” Catwoman hissed. “Purr-feet working order ...”

There was a sharp detonation. The Batman hit the floor. Something heavy whined past his ear and clipped a strip out of his cape. He did not have to see to know she had used the harpoon cannon. There was a splintering thud as the harpoon smashed through the side wall of a doll’s house. The Batman rolled into cover and looked out through stinging, tear-filled eyes. He was on the chessboard but Catwoman was nowhere to be seen.

She came from behind. The Batman whirled too late to stop the toppling chess piece from pinning his legs. “Checkmate!” shrieked the Catwoman.

Hefting the huge rook off his legs, Batman groggily pulled himself to his feet. One ankle throbbed like a bad tooth. He scanned the Trophy Room for signs of his enemy. When he spotted her, his mouth corrugated into a grimace. She was running up the steep spine of the Tyrannosaur, as surely as a tabby on a fence. When she reached the shoulders, she pulled

Third page:

back the hatch that led into the head of the dinosaur and stepped inside.

The Batman ran, ignoring the pains that thumped through his leg. He ran, while the Trophy Room echoed to the noise of machinery starting to move. With a grinding shudder, the monster’s tail twitched. It twitched once more and then it swung in a flailing arc and demolished a helicopter.

“What a wonderful place you have here!” Catwoman’s voice came through the loudspeaker in the Tyrannosaur’s mouth. “Much more fun than Disneyland!”

The monster lurched and began to move. Its tail thrashed through a row of display cases which burst like bombs, showering The Batman with glass.

“This whole night’s been one long catalogue of disasters for you, Batman dear” mocked the monster, with Catwoman’s voice. His mind racing, Batman ran under the dinosaur, out of her sight. In that comparative safety he reviewed his situation. He had been taken by surprise. He was injured and things looked bad. His only hope lay in turning Catwoman’s own nature against her. Unclipping the radio from his belt, he signalled Alfred.

“Where are you?” purred his enemy. “Come out, come out, the game’s not over.”

The tail shuddered once more, then the dinosaur stopped. The hatch opened and Catwoman jumped down, landing on her feet. “Batman …” Her voice was a lethal whisper and she moved like a hunting cat, flexing the claws on her gloves. “Where are you?”

But he had gone, melted into thin air like a man of grey vapour. She drew her lips back over her teeth and padded off in search of him. She searched the lab and the garage; she searched the storeroom and she searched the computer vault.

And that was where she found the stairs. At the top of those stairs she would find the key to The Batman’s secret identity. She could wipe out his entire operation at a stroke. Or it could be a trap. Perhaps she should escape now and return at her leisure.

She looked back at the caves and she looked up the stairs and finally, overcome by the need to know, she ran up the steps, purring. With the contented expression of a cat that has gorged itself on cream, she opened the door in the grandfather clock.

And Alfred, waiting there, spritzed her face with gas. The satisfaction changed to surprise and then to rage until at last her face went blank and Catwoman keeled over like a doll. Batman caught her.

“Everything all right, sir?” asked Alfred.

“Fine, Alfred,” replied The Batman. “Just fine.”

When she woke up she was in the Batmobile, in downtown Gotham and headed for Police Headquarters.

“Tough luck, Selina,” The Batman consoled her. “Maybe next time.” Catwoman simply snarled.

“I knew you’d try the stairs” he went on. “You just couldn’t resist it. I suppose it proves what they say . . ”

She glared at him with eyes as green as gemstones. “I know. I know,” she spat “It’s not funny.”

The Batman smiled, pulling into the Police parking lot. “Oh, I think it is,” he said. “Just like in the old story: Curiosity Killed the Cat.”

#comics #batman #official batman annual #grant morrison #garry leach #bryan talbot #catwoman #selina kyle #bruce wayne #alfred pennyworth #batcat #the contemporary comics were iffy on the question of whether selina knew bruce was batman #with even then-editor len wein admitting he wasn't sure #the smart money was on “yes”#but denny o'neil was so aghast at that idea that when he took over they were barely even permitted to interact #even so when she finally officially learned the truth in hush #the reaction was “wait -- hasn't she known for years?”#but in any case this story presumes she definitely does not know

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psychxpxthic · 1 year

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|| @jokethur | 𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑹𝑻𝑬𝑹 || ------- Located in historic Wynwood, feel free to enrich yourself with everything mango; from vanilla layered cake with mango curd to Mango Lemonade ! Stroll along our historic main street and find that perfect treasure at our many venues. There is so much to do: unique shopping, children's activities, demonstrations, fun-filled contests, festival foods, live music and more. So don't miss this free, family-friendly festival ! ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Mellow cozy rays beamed down from the sky, spreading warmth across the streets of Wynwood; a city located a town over from Gotham. A city that felt almost entirely untouched from the modern era, still captivating an authentic aura that beguiled many of its occupancies. Typically tranquil, this suburban community needn't much to draw in a crowd, but crowds there were when the time came for it's much well known Mango Festival.

Many streets already blocked off from the event; folks coming early to prepare for the many delectable dishes presented, along with more of the miscellaneous venues. You had your fair share of people trying to sell paintings they'd created, to even outer décor meant for garden use. But perhaps, no other booth stood out most than the one belonging to Edgar Cizko himself.

It was a bijou booth which sat a little ways away from the others— not only feeling out of place, but also looking out of place too. The stand was painted entirely purple with different array of light fixtures hung up and around it's surface to catch people's attention. In white bold letterings a sign read off ' Psychic '. Alongside this were also decorative stars painted onto the woodwork, in company with a single painted open palm on the left side of the frame. The opening had been obscured by beads threaded through strings, making the inside almost entirely unseen for ongoing passersby.

Light glistened off from the ovoids as a olive toned hand crept out, pushing the blanket of beads away from his path before stepping out. Even with a compact structure, Edgar stood out like a sore thumb, especially with the garb he'd presented himself in for this event. Typically clothed in a black suit, he'd instead found himself wearing a purple blazer with rounded shades over his eyes and a metal chain hung over his neck. Around his wrists were dissimilar mismatched bracelets, each being made out of varying different rocks and crystals. Then finally, worn on all digits but his ring finger were many flashy bands. Eventually, he'd appear as someone would when claiming to be some sort of Psychic.

Moving the sunglasses away from his face, Edgar allowed them to sit at the top of his head. He'd began to scan the perimeter. He needed money, and quick. Sure people were coming into his booth, but not enough to make the doctor feel content. But then...

Piercing almond eyes which appeared almost crimson from the sunlight fallen directly onto one who'd worn a suit of red. It was Arthur, and he'd seem to accompanied by two little rascals. To him, this was all too perfect— he could make a easy buck out of these three, instead of just having to search for one individual. Besides, he was a clown ! Fooling him into handing over some money shouldn't be that hard of a feat, right ?

Amongst the crowd called out a low yet velvet sounding voice, one that held some elegancy to it. It was distinct, distinct enough to ensure someone to turn their head.

❝ Salutations my good sir ! ❞ He chimed out with a sneer ❝ Might I interest you in a reading ? Come—Come, Don't be shy ! I have a one hundred percent back satisfaction guaranteed. What's there to lose ? ❞

#jokethur #;;Closed RP #;;Length; Long #;;Verse; Main #ah yes trying to take money from joker himself--smart.#IMJOKJWJWHWAHAHAHAAHA

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