agentorange: (Riddler: abnormal behavior)
[personal profile] agentorange
Title: Pammy's Playhouse
Rating: Probably A++++, at least.
Words: Way too many.
Note: This started it off. It's so cracky it should ride a short bus. Dedicated to everyone over at [livejournal.com profile] bedlamblvd because they are the kings of crack and their characterizations inspired me.



Gotham had been unusually quiet the past few weeks since a huge breakout at Arkham. Among the escaped inmates were the Joker, the Riddler, and the Scarecrow, and yet none of them had made a move. In fact, the previous days had been exceptionally low in crime. Even the petty thieves and thugs weren't out hassling innocent citizens. The streets were safer now than they had been in 50 years.

And it made Batman suspicious.

He checked and double checked CCTVs. He cross referenced criminal records. He examined parolee releases. And he turned up nothing. His frustration had begun to mount so much that he had hopped into the Batmobile and was cruising towards Gotham to beat into a pulp the first seedy looking character he saw when Oracle called him.

"What?" he asked gruffly, briefly considering a jet engine for the Batmobile.

"I just intercepted a police report about a crazy woman saying an alligator tried to bite her hand off in a strip club."

Batman ground his teeth.

"What's the current status on Killer Croc?"

"Still missing, ever since the last Arkham breakout," the relay crackled.

"Location of the incident?" Batman demanded, his jaw set.

"Crime Alley. A new place called 'Pammy's Playhouse'. Opened 3 days ago."

Batman gripped the steering wheel as he neared Crime Alley. "There has been literally no crime the past 3 days."

"Think there's a correlation?" Oracle asked, already locating Dick if backup was needed. Tim was studying for exams that evening.

"Possibly," he answered, pulling around a corner.

The garish neon lights of Pammy's Playhouse painted the faces of the large crowd outside. They were corralled by red velvet ropes. As he peered closer, he realized the crowd were mostly middle aged women, although there was a healthy sprinkling of snappily dressed young men, as well as a few older looking fellows in black leather caps and vests.

Batman inwardly groaned.

"You didn't tell me the strippers were male, Oracle."

A pause.

"I would gladly have taken this myself. If I could," Oracle replied, failing to veil her jealousy. She considered asking for photos, at least, but Dick would probably steal them from her. He thought she didn't know about his "Brawny Beefcakes" folder. He seemed to forget that she was a computer whiz.

In the meantime, Batman had entered Pammy's Playhouse through the backdoor, keeping to the shadows. In the soft, low light, he could see the establishment was decorated tastefully, clearly by a woman. There were sprays of fresh flowers on the walls and tables, their perfume creating a soothing and comforting atmosphere. Vines twined along the walls and around table legs.

Suddenly he felt someone brush against him and he spun on his heel, coming face to face with Pammy herself.

"Ivy," Batman growled, scowling at the redhead before him.

She laughed, her fingers stroking his arm before he jerked away from her.

"I've been expecting you," she murmured as a vine twirled itself around her finger. "My beautiful babies sensed your arrival."

She lightly kissed the tendril and where her lips touched the plant, a large turquoise flower bloomed. Batman tensed, ready for the tricky vixen. She laughed again, her green eyes heavily lidded.

"Relax, Batman," Ivy said, inhaling the aroma of the flower in her hand. "You're here just in time for the show."

In the moment Batman's eyes flicked towards the stage, Poison Ivy blew across the flower, sending the pollen into Batman's face. Large clumps of yellow powder clung to his exposed skin. He immediately moved to knock the flower from her hand, but was halted by thick vines which began to wrap around his arms and legs. They pulled him to a nearby VIP booth, propping him in a sitting position facing the stage. The occupant of the next booth let out an effeminate squeal and ducked out of sight. Ivy sidled up to the booth and curled up on Batman's lap.

"You always have to do things the hard way, Batman," Ivy cooed, caressing Batman's cheek, smearing the pollen into his skin. "I've noticed in the past you've used nose filters and plastic lips to stop us from enjoying ourselves, so I developed something new."

Batman struggled against the vines, which only tightened around his limbs.

"Give it up, Ivy," he rumbled. "Let these people go and deal with me. Leave them out of it."

Ivy smiled a wicked smile.

"They are free to go as they please," she replied as a vine curled up to Batman's face and stuffed itself into his mouth. "Well, the customers, at least."

She traced a finger across his upper lip, noting the fine sheen of sweat there.

"By the way, my special pollen requires a catalyst before it becomes effective. Would you like to guess what that is?" she paused, draping an arm over Batman's shoulder. "No answers? Don't worry; I'll let you in on my little secret. It needs adrenaline."

Batman's eyes widened and he tried to slow his breathing and calm himself.

"I wouldn't bother, if I were you, Bats," she smirked. "I synthesized a component of Crane's fear toxin and added it to the pollen to ensure your body would be flushed with adrenaline. By now you should be starting to feel relaxed as if you were floating in a womb."

Ivy leaned down and kissed the mass of vines tangled at Batman's mouth. His eyes had glazed over and he did feel as if he were floating in a womb, but he could still hear everything.

"But personally, I am more interested the pollen's aphrodisiac properties."

The overhead lights began to dim and feedback filled the club.

"Aw jeez," a female voice muttered and a banging that was undeniably a microphone being slammed repeatedly against the floor filtered through the sound system. The feedback abruptly stopped and the voice cleared its throat.

"Ahem! Ladies and germs, good evening and welcome to Pammy's Playhouse!" A spotlight lit up the stage. "Tonight we have a killer line up for you all! Haha! Get it? Killer? Ok!"

The curtain fluttered open and a blur of black and red cart wheeled forward.

"I'm Harley Quinn and I'll be yer MC tonight! Pleased to meecha!"

Harley did a back flip off the stage, landing in a chair before the stage. She kicked her legs upon the table, crossing them at the ankles and tipping her chair back while she continued.

"Our first performer tonight is a child at heart. He loves nursery rhymes, Halloween, and mercilessly using patients' phobias against them to scare them to death. And he needs the money for med school. Dancing to the Prince of Pop's 'Thriller', I give you-- The Scarecrow!"

As the sound of wolves howling filled the club, a tall and skinny figure shuffled onto stage wearing overalls and a burlap sack mask. He jerked his shoulder in a fairly decent Michael Jackson impression. The zombie dance moves were frighteningly convincing when executed by his pale, skeletal frame. As a result, no one in the club had made a move to offer money. By the time Vincent Price had rapped "the funk of 40,000 years", the Scarecrow had stripped down to a scanty and poorly sewn burlap thong and was stiffly rotating his bony hips in what was apparently meant to be a grinding motion. He seemed unaware that one of his balls had popped out of the thong and was jiggling helplessly against his thigh while he silently mouthed the chorus under the mask. Harley's "Yeeccch!" could be heard over Vincent Price's laughter.

When the music ended, the club was silent. Scarecrow stood awkwardly at the center of the stage. Harley hopped to her feet.

"Well, um...give it up for Scarey!"

A few people clapped slowly, while most continued pretending the stage was empty. Harley frowned to see there were no bills on the stage.

"Come on, people!" She pulled her giant pop gun from under the table. "Or am I gonna have to shoot it out of ya?"

Immediately, several hundreds appeared at the Scarecrow's feet. He scrambled for the bills as the crowd instinctively shrank back. When he had left the stage, Ivy turned to Batman and sighed.

"And he practiced so hard for tonight. Did you see his moonwalk? Who would have known Crane had such a talent?"

Batman only seethed silently in response. Ivy returned her attention to Harley, who was now licking an over sized lollipop.

"Alrighty, folks, our next performer captures all the essence of that time old tale Beauty and the Beast, but without the Beauty. His hobbies include exfoliating, flossing, and Southern cooking. Keep your hands inside your vehicles! Dancing to 'Sexy Back' by Justin Timberlake, please welcome that Ragin' Cajun, Killer Croc!"

The giant man-crocodile spun onto stage wearing nothing but the rank pair of shants he always wore. His long reptilian tongue slithered between his lizard lips and made obscene slurping noises as he shimmied around, sometimes rubbing a clawed hand on his rump while heckling the terrified audience.

"Y'all bitches want my hawt bod, I know. Watch me jiggle like jambalaya."

He did a hip pop and added, "Y'all want some sausage wit dat?"

As he shook his plentiful posteriors, a wad of cash wrapped in several purple and gold beaded necklaces sailed through the air and landed at his feet. Croc bent seductively to retrieve the goods.

"Aw hell, I know it ain't Mardi Gras, but butter my buns and call me a biscuit!" he exclaimed as he put on the necklaces. His excitement quickly died when he began to examine the money.

"Which one of y'all honkeys threw dis Monopoly money at me? I can't git no crawdad gumbo wit dis! How the hell you think I keep dat ass so fine?" He huffed incredulously, his hands flailing in the air. "That's it, nonna y'all gonna git dat ass. Fuck y'all then."

He turned away from the audience and began storm off the stage, but paused before the curtain. Looking over his shoulder before stalking out of his sight, he added, "I ain't never comin' back here agin. Y'all muthafuckers nastier than month old shrimp stew and hush puppies."

Ivy leaned her head on Batman's shoulder and whispered conspiratorially, "The pheromones keeping him under control have this strange side effect where Croc turns into a bitchy queen. Still," she continued pointedly, "whatever soothes the monsters..."

"Oy," Harley mumbled, sipping on the fish bowl sized Shirley Temple before her. "Our next performance is by a duo who are no strangers to the stage...but they're strange all right. Dancing to Duran Duran's 'Notorious', let's hear it for those two dummies the Ventriloquist and Scarface!"

"That's Scarface and the Ventriloquist, sweetheart," Scarface corrected as the Ventriloquist was pushed onto stage. The duo were wearing matching 1920s gangster suits.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," muttered Harley, not looking up from her Shirley Temple.

The Ventriloquist moved nervously toward the audience, his eyes wide behind his glasses.

"Well, what are you waitin' for? Give the groads want they want to see," drawled Scarface, cackling as the Ventriloquist obeyed and began unbuttoning the doll's shirt. "Show them the goods."

Arnold Wesker's hand shook.

"Whatever you say, Mr. Scarface," he replied uncertainly.

The dummy's shirt fell open to reveal a wooden torso with Magic marker chest hair curlicues and nipples drawn on with Crayon.

"Heh heh. Where's the money, goils?" Scarface chuckled, his expressionless glass eyes leering at the audience. Wesker looked away embarrassed, desperately wishing for a quiet evening alone with Mr. Scarface featuring heavy petting instead.

The doll's head swiveled around to face the Ventriloquist.

"Are you saying I'm an emgarrassment to you? I can hear what you're thinking, you dummy," the real dummy said threateningly.

A sweat broke out on Wesker's brow.

"Oh, no no no, Mr. Scarface, I didn't mean it like that," Wesker replied hurriedly, not at all liking the tone in Scarface's voice.

"I'm the goss around here, got it? If I say we're taking our clothes off for dolls, we're taking our clothes off for dolls," answered Scarface, his little wooden arms jabbing in Wesker's face.

"Aw, shut up, will ya?" Harley aimed and fired her over sized gun at Scarface, popping off his head. The head screamed as it rolled across the stage.

The Ventriloquist stared in abject horror.

"Don't just stand there, dummy, help me!" the doll yelled at Wesker.

Harley hopped on the stage and punted Scarface's jabbering head behind the curtain, sending Wesker scurrying off after it.

"And don't come back, ya wackos!"

Ivy smirked and squeezed Batman's thigh. His skin was wet with sweat and though his eyes were glassy, they were wide in horror.

"Enjoying yourself, darling?" Ivy asked, caressing the vine which lay across his mouth. It writhed pleasantly under her touch, throbbing between Batman's lips. She kissed his cheek while continuing to stroke the vine in his mouth, her green lips causing an olive tint to spread across his skin and his face began to go numb. "I know I am."

Harley was reclining in her chair, flicking a large yellow yo-yo with a smiley face on it as she announced the next performer.

"The next act has become a local star after his breakthrough performance on opening night here at Pammy's Playhouse. His hobbies include tending a shrine dedicated to Batman and crossword puzzles. Dancing to 'If You Think I'm Sexy' by Rod Stewart, let's give a warm welcome to the Riddler!"

When the disco ball started spinning, a tall slim figure wearing a bowler hat slid across the stage on shiny black shoes. He was dressed in a loud green velvet smoking jacket covered in flashing question marks and green trousers with black question marks. He air humped his way to the head of the stage where the crowd was pressed waving hundreds at him and he teasingly pulled off the jacket, revealing himself to be wearing only a green waistcoat. Turning his back to them, he did the hustle while unzipping the trousers. Several women fainted.

As he lip-synced "just reach out and touch me", he disco pointed and pulled off the tear away trousers on the upstroke, spinning around to face the crowd in a thong that was a giant question mark. Someone in the crowd shrieked and pushed his way to the stage, waving a large wad of cash in his hand. Grinning, the Riddler hustled to the edge of the stage, his pelvis thrusting over the young man's head, who reached up and crammed the wad of money into the front of the question mark thong. The dark haired young man mimed "call me" to the Riddler as the crowd surged forward and pushed him back, but not before Batman recognized the face of his crime fighting partner, Tim Drake.

The Riddler did a victory lap around the stage as the music faded, basking in the adulation of his fans. Dozens of hands reached out to touch him and he indulged his fawning audience far after the music had ended. Harley rolled her eyes and threw the yellow yo-yo at him, which exploded at his feet.

"Get off the stage already, ya big geek!"

He merely waved over his shoulder and wriggling his lithe body, he sashayed off the stage. Harley glared at the patrons who were demanding an encore and interrupted them.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, it is with great pleasure that I introduce our last performer of the evening. He's an Aries who enjoys short walks on long piers, mental torture, evisceration, murder, mayhem, and The Three Stooges, and he's my Puddin'. Dancing to Lady GaGa's 'Poker Face', I give you the Caliph of Clowns, the Mountebank of Mischief, the Clown Prince of Crime...the Joker!"

Harley jumped to her feet and clapped wildly as the 7 foot tall figure entered. His stark white skin was contrasted sharply by a royal purple kimono bedazzled with hundreds of diamonds and accented with a purple feather boa and 5 inch purple platform stilettos. The Joker sneered like a shark as he gyrated in time with the music, lewdly fondling himself through the robe. A low laugh rumbled in his throat while he danced. He had clearly studied GaGa choreography.

At the second verse, he had discarded the kimono to reveal a hot pink elephant thong with googly eyes that rolled around as he shook his hips and an erect, oversized trunk. At this point, several members of the crowd tried to climb on the stage to get closer, only to be deterred by Harley, who fired her pop gun at the person nearest her Puddin'. The woman was struck in the face and collapsed to the floor, her bloody visage serving as an example to any would be offenders.

"Keep yer filthy hands to yerself!" Harley yelled protectively. She was satisfied to see the crowd trample the woman without regard for her well being, and this caused Joker's giggling to turn into maniacal howling laughter which continued through the rest of his performance.

By the bridge, the Joker was pulling the feather boa between his legs, pretending to ride it. Hundred dollar bills were plastered to his pasty thighs by god knows what manner of sticky substances. Batman had already thrown up into his mouth and found he could not close his eyes against the nightmare before him because of Ivy's drugs. Or he hoped it was merely Ivy's drugs. He panted through his nose as tears streamed down his face.

The track ended with Joker humping the floor and cackling wildly, while the club patrons hooted and catcalled. Harley was sprawled across her table in a swoon, her eyes round and glistening.

"That's my Mistah Jay," she sighed dreamily, watching him exit the stage with thousands of dollars.

Ivy turned her attention from the stage to her captive, stroking his cowl.

"What do you think, Batman?" she asked, pleased with the furious glare in his bloodshot eyes. "What's that? You could do better?"

His eyes widened and he shook his head desperately. Sliding off his lap, Ivy laughed coldly.

"You don't have a choice."

He felt himself being lifted by the thick vines and propelled over the heads of the astonished club patrons until he was on the stage. At the tables nearest the raised platform sat his leering enemies: the Joker and Harley Quinn were sharing a cream pie and flicking clumps of whipped cream at him; Nygma and Crane were at another table with a martini and a mint julep, respectively, looking down their noses up at him.

"Tell me, Batman," Nygma began, popping the olive into his mouth, "what suit of cards lays eggs?"

The vine slithered out of Batman's mouth and he gagged on his dry tongue.

"Shut it, Edward," he growled angrily. The vine quickly crammed itself back into his mouth.

The Riddler chuckled.

"Tut tut, Bats. You didn't say the magic word."

The crowd erupted in jeering laughter and Ivy's voice was heard through the sound system.

"Ladies and gentlemen, our final performer this evening needs no introduction. He will be dancing...well, forcibly stripped is more appropriate...to Right Said Fred's 'I'm Too Sexy'. Put your hands together for Gotham's Dark Knight, Batman!"

Batman struggled in vain against the vines that started to rip away at his armor. The combination of Ivy's compound and the strength of her plants were too much for him. His vision began to darken at the edges as the vines squeezed tighter around his neck until, finally, he passed out.

When he awoke, he found himself in his pyjamas in his bed back at Wayne Manor. Alfred had just entered the room with a breakfast tray and a newspaper was tucked under one arm.

"Good afternoon, Master Bruce," the butler said cheerfully, setting the tray on the bed. "Feeling better, I hope?"

Bruce picked up the glass of orange juice and frowned.

"Better?"

Alfred raised an eyebrow.

"Early this morning you were delirious with fever. Don't you remember the nightmares?"

Bruce rubbed his head, trying to remember.

"Pardon me, sir, but you kept shouting, "'Don't take off my pants. Please, don't take off my pants'."

Bruce shrugged and sipped the juice.

"Doesn't ring any bells."

Alfred sighed.

"Very well, sir. I'll be straightening up the study if you need me."

When Alfred had left, Bruce settled back into the pillows, reaching under them to prop himself comfortably. His hand brushed something rough and unfamiliar. Pulling his hand free, he gaped in horror.

It was a crudely sewn burlap thong.

FIN



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