Chris Dee

It wasn__ Hell; only fools and drama queens throw that word around about a place like Gotham. It was worse, in a way, because it was manmade. There wasn__ any timeless malevolence behind it all, it was just_ what human beings can descend to when they let themselves forget they can be heroes.

Wow, a trifecta: Murder, Madness and Magic, the three things you hate most of anything in the world.

Bruce hates magic. He__ a scientist; he has a rational mind. And he respects natural law even more, if possible, than manmade ones. Magic lets someone cheat those laws, and he hates it.

Magic. It was worse than feline logic. Leave it to magic to re-fracture and re-herniate his vertebrae in the middle of a battle. A powerful sigh forced itself through the controlled exhale of his Ki breathing, decimating the thin slow line of smoke curling up from the incense. It reformed itself a moment later, right before Bruce__ eyes, and he glared at it with Batman__ most malevolent stare. What a metaphor. A few seconds_ disruption and all was set right again. That was magic__ attitude. No harm done. As if it was as simple as a few seconds_ paralysis.

In Paris, choosing a dress is a monumental decision. In Milan, it__ a kick.

I've always felt Lex Luthor is intensely threatened by any status or distinction he can__ buy, hence the antipathy to Superman's powers and Bruce Wayne's status as old money. Money is Luthor's superpower, and anything he can__ obtain or control with it is his kryptonite. Unlike Superman, he takes a proactive view of his kryptonite. It shouldn__ exist and he__l do all he can to eradicate it wherever he finds it.

Well then, take this thought with you for the dark hours to come: It is a ludicrous fiction that love conquers all, but it can, in fact, conquer quite a lot. I am Iason of the Blood, Knight of Arthur, King of the Britons, reborn into dark service in the year of Our Lord five hundred and sixty. My power is vast, and for none to arrogate but by my will and decree. My services are engaged, Selina. Tell me what you need to ease your pain in this, and it is yours.

They are married, after all, in every way that matters. The difficulty is that they appear not to have noticed. And one is somewhat wary, given the history, of bringing that fact to their attention.

The Batcave is a monument_ to his pain. The cave is more than his war room. He might think of it that way, all the tools and resources he__ assembled for his work. But that__ not it at all. The Batcave is a monument to his pain. And this morning, the way he__ hurting, it was the last place he would come.

People who live in the night are acquainted with all kinds of quiet. There__ quiet enough to hear the distant traffic. Quiet enough to hear your breathing. Quiet enough to hear a lover__ heartbeat. There__ please-god-don__-let-me-die quiet, and can__-remember-her-name quiet. Is-he-lying quiet and can__-make-rent quiet. There__ the quiet that inspires poets, and quiet that torments the lonely.

Of all my objections to Jonathan Crane__nd it is a lengthy list__he one point I will concede is that sometimes Fear has a purpose. Sometimes, fear is nature__ way of saying: Whoa there, Sundance, you sure you want to be jumping off that cliff, what with the rocky bed of the Colorado River churning 300 feet below? Sometimes, Fear has a point.

Questions that begin __f I had/if I had not_ have no true answers. You can never know how your actions may have impacted Master Jason__ fate. And if you could know, that knowledge would not change the past. The only good that can come of these musings is that which you have already found: in taking the lessons of the past, such as they may be, to guide your choices in the present.

The principles of storytelling do not change. Going home. Coming of age. Sin and redemption. The hero. The journey, The power of love. They are hardwired into us, just like our taste buds process sweet, sour, bitter, and salt. Can a new voice come up with something startling and creative and unprecedented? Absolutely. Can they invent a fifth taste? No. No, they can__. Can they make it so we don__ like sweet anymore? No, no they can__.

I am not a fan of the magical quick fix in any fiction, including fantasy, scifi and comic books. Unless Dr. Who is involved, and then only because we get to use the phrase 'Timey-wimey wibbliness' which, I'm sure you'll agree, there are not enough occasions to drop into ordinary adult conversation.

Greymalkin was no demon familiar; she was a rambunctious cat with the playful temperament of a kitten. On those occasions when Greymalkin decided the Tarot were her playthings, Miriam knew any attempt at a reading would lead to chewed cards, overturned candles, and incense ash tracked across her tablecloth in the form of tiny gray pawprints.

(Love is the puzzle that) can__ be solved. Catlike, it follows no rules but its own, and only it knows what they are. Also it can change the rules any time it wants, in any way it wants, and there__ nothing anyone can do about it.

Something was wrong. I felt a cold shiver. I didn__ know what at first. Something was just_ wrong. I thought of Azrael for some reason, the Imposter, in that cowl, pretending he was Batman. It was that same sick feeling, a crazy kind of panic sparking deep beneath the surface, ready to erupt any second but held in check for the moment by the cold shiver getting colder by the minute.My fingers were so cold_ against the warmth of Bruce__ chest_ and then the realization came, right underneath those cold fingertips, I knew what was wrong.__hen did these heal?_ I whispered.

Inexplicably, I felt drops of icy sweat dripping up my back. I am aware that icy and sweat are contradictory by their very nature and should not be able to coexist in the same freakish bead of ICK WHAT IS THAT falling up my back. I am also aware things are not supposed to fall up. For that matter, criminals aren__ supposed to get it on with crimefighters. Yet here we were: Catwoman, Batman, icy, sweat, dripping, up. Sometimes life is like that.