maskormenacelogs | (no subject)

WHO: Everyone!
WHERE: An hour outside De Chima
WHEN: January 10-12
WHAT: imPorts are treated to a Swear-In that’s nothing but a weekend of relaxation at a brand new resort and spa!
WARNINGS: Possible mild nudity

It’s been a long few months, hasn’t it imPorts? Between the invading monsters (yikes!), evading the apocalypse (double yikes!) and then some fear toxin on behalf of your good pal Joker (triple yikes!), imPorts are overdue for a vacation. And wouldn’t you know it? One is coming right up.

Oh, yeah. It’s a Hot Springs Episode.

Welcome to Elysium Resort and Spa! When you come in, you’ll get a brochure with all of their offerings. They’re a little confused, perhaps, espousing relaxation ideals of every culture, clearly having just thrown all of their relaxation spaghetti at the wall to see if it sticks, but they’ve got the spirit! The smell of eucalyptus fills the air as you toe off your shoes and change into the slippers and robes that they have available for you as they usher you into what must be, for some, absolute paradise.

You can find rooms for all persuasions here, all purporting various health benefits. They have your typical fare - salt rooms, saunas, steam rooms, buckets of water with ladles resting in them to pour over the heaters to allow them to sizzle - but be warned! Some of these rooms climb up to ridiculous temperatures, leaving the bottoms of your feet red and toasty as you jump in (they suggest sandals, but who reads instructions anyway?), and other rooms are filled with ice as you’re plunged into what may as well be a walk-in freezer. Sometimes the doors are a little fiddly, though. Don’t worry - you won’t get trapped in here long enough for any real harm to come to you. But you might get a little uncomfortable as you rattle at the door, one of the employees eventually hurrying to let you out and offering their sincerest apologies, and won’t you have a gift certificate?

If those rooms aren’t enough for you, you can check out the baths. Salt baths, chilled baths, and hot tubs galore are here for imPorts, but that’s not all. Ever wanted to bathe in tea? In wine? Would you like to sink into a bath filled entirely with clay? How about getting all your dead skin chomped off by fish? It’s all here for you! Just try not to drink the bathwater - or, heavens, eat the fish. Those aren’t for you!

As imPorts stroll outside, they’ll see a beautiful vista overlooking the mountains, attached to a spacious hot springs (it’s natural, they claim, but who’s checking?) where imPorts can simply relax and enjoy the scenery. After that, why not pop inside to where some of the technicians will absolutely insist that you get a massage. Or a mani-pedi - yes, even you, big guy. Or, really, anything that your heart desires.

Once you’ve been poked and prodded and primped to your heart’s content (or discontent, as it may be), the spa open until the wee hours of the morning, it’s time to go and dine on some of the local cuisine, prepared fresh by the resort’s resident chef with a distinct eye to fresh, clean flavors and a truly ridiculous amount of salad. They want to make sure that you’re healthy inside and out, after all!

Before arriving at the spa, everyone was able to choose who they wanted to room with. But it seems that their systems got a bit scrambled during their grand opening, so you may find yourself bunking with a stranger instead. They’re deeply apologetic, of course, but it really would be easier for them if you’d just be nice for an evening and give it a shot. It’s only one evening, right? It’s not like you’ll be roomed with a serial killer. Probably. Given the imPort population there’s, what, a five percent chance?

The hotel rooms themselves are beautiful and spacious, each with a window looking out over the lovely view of the scenery below. It’s the perfect way to end your night… until 3 AM when an alarm begins to blare and all of the guests are ushered outside in the chilly winter air while firefighters come to check the place out. It’s a false alarm (some brat must have pulled it, the manager says apologetically, ready with more gift certificates), but hey, maybe this is a good chance to get to know your neighbors!

The next day, guests are free to take advantage of the resort’s facilities once more, or they can go hiking in the mountainous trails available to them, complete with regular rest stops with firepits, with the staff more than happy to pack lunchboxes and fixings for s’mores.

After they come back and have a thankfully uneventful night’s rest, buses will be ready to take them back to civilization, along with goodie bags filled with luxury goods and an earnest invitation to come back anytime! But maybe next time, wait a couple of months so they can iron out the kinks in their system.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[The Joker's wrong there: this Batman cares too much. He cares about the people that scum like this clown terrorize and take for granted, even if they might be the very same people that fear him currently, or would have terrorized him if he were still human. It's the part of him that's remained stubbornly human even as he's embraced the monster within.

As he once told the robot he believed to be his friend Tina: the skin is cold, but the heart's still warm.

He could let the hunger take hold of him, feast indiscriminately. It's what most people expect him to do. But then he'd have no right to the current life that he's carved out for himself in the dark greys of morality. He could never look at Hernan again; not that Hernan was here. He couldn't look at Apollo, or Abigail, or Ben, or Jane.

No, he might have fallen, but he hasn't sunk that low. And he never would.]

If your dying wish is to believe that I don't care then fine. I don't.

[That was supposed to be the final word on the matter. He'd played with his food long enough, and both man and monster were both getting restless. This sack of trash had been breathing for far too long. But then the way The Joker manages to hiss out his last question, like it was the most important thing in the world, he couldn't help but indulge one final request.]

I had one hell of a bad day. Now say goodnight, Gracie.

[The time for questions is over. The time for talking is over. He bares his fangs a final time and this time digs them promptly into his prey's jugular, expertly puncturing them for maximum drainage, but minimal spillage.

The time for this clown to be breathing is over.]

[ One hell of a bad day.

Joker's eyes fill with a manic sort of triumph: I knew it, I knew it!

His fundamental hypothesis all those years ago, the one he shattered Barbara's spine for, the one he slaughtered Jason for... The one that ultimately turned him into a shivering wreck of a man, curled up in a ball with his arms wrapped around himself, unable to see the humor in anything at all... He was right about it. He was right all along! He just hasn't taken it far enough yet. Hasn't found the right hell of a day yet, the right combination of torments that will crack his Bats like a walnut and unleash the monster inside.

But he can. And now that he's seen proof that it's possible, he's certain that he will. It's just a matter of time.

Kirk's clichéd final words barely register at first, and when those fangs sink into him — a nice clean job, Joker notices, but of course it would be, from a Bat — the fear he felt before is like a distant thing, muted and continually receding. Nothing in this world comes for free, after all. And to learn the secret of how to break Bats, to receive confirmation that he's been on the right path from the beginning, that's a treasure worthy of a high price tag. Worthy even of a temporary death.

His arms jerk instinctively against Kirk's hold, but only once. He's obviously not going to get away, and there's nothing within his reach that he can use as a weapon, and if a broken bottle to the gut couldn't stop this man, a kick to the ankle isn't going to do a damned thing, either. Better, Joker thinks, to pay the price willingly. To die with as much dignity as he can, considering the circumstances, rather than to die flailing and struggling like a hapless coward.

He forces himself to go still, then actually leans into Kirk slightly, his face turning so that his cheek rests against the side of the man's head while Kirk drinks. He wants Batman to know that he's letting him do this, that every spurt of his blood is being given up willingly.

The wound in his neck throbs, hot and deep, and the pain is oddly soothing, even intimate. Joker closes his eyes and deliberately slows his breathing, and his pulse slows with it. Each heartbeat pushes more of his life away, and he wants this to last for as long as it can, for the Reaper to take his time in collecting him. He's not afraid anymore; death, too, shall pass. He just wants another moment to linger here, to be with Bats and to know that all is well.

He can hear the wet sound of Batman drinking him, taking his poison into himself with each swallow. And in the dark, with Kirk's mouth pressed to his skin and Kirk's blood soaking slowly into Joker's robe, with their fluids exchanging in this most absurd of ways and the room beginning to lose its moorings around them, everything is indeed well. This is not Kirk Langstrom, vampire and fake Batman. This is Bats, giving in to what was supposed to happen from the beginning, welcoming Joker's contamination because it is inevitable, because it is right. Joker's upper arms are pinned, but his left hand has enough freedom of movement to reach Batman's leg with his fingertips. Gently, he strokes it: It's all right. It's okay.

His head's beginning to spin, and his limbs feel heavy. A chill's coming in, too, like a draft sliding under his skin. He remembers this feeling. It's not so bad.

As his heart starts to falter, he presses his cheek more firmly against Batman's head, and his fingertips give that leg a last pat. He'll be back again soon, and then, oh then, they'll really play...

His voice is almost loving as he says, as asked, ] Goodnight.

[ He dies smiling. ]