nothing worse than old comic books
Main Character: Doyle
Disclaimer: Doyle is the creation of Joss Whedon, Batman and Robin (and all that other Gotham City stuff) are the creations of DC Comics.
Distribution: Jinni, Paula, anyone else just ask.
Note: 20 minutes with Doyle response.
ALAN FRANCIS DOYLE. The voice seemed to come from everywhere, shaking his very bones.
"err.. yeah?" Doyle blinked, wondering how he'd come to be sort of standing in the middle of a pale gray expanse of nothing. No sky, no ground, just... grayness. Hadn't he just died in a blaze of excruciating agony?
WE ARE NOT FINISHED WITH YOU. The voice came again, implacable, emotionless.
"There's a small matter.... Y'see, I'm pretty sure that I died back there," He looked around, feeling as if he was turning in a circle, his eyes sweeping over the empty grayness.
THAT CAN BE WORKED AROUND. YOU WILL CONTINUE AS A SEER, BUT WITH A NEW CHAMPION, IN A NEW PLACE. And with that, there was a twisting sensation, and everything faded into darkness.
Doyle blinked, realizing that he was elsewhere. He felt as if he was laying on something cold, hard, and not quite smooth, and there was this faint squeaking noise from overhead. Slowly, he sat up, discovering that he was in a large cave. To the right of him was a sleek black car with prominent fins on the back, and what looked like a rocket. Overhead, a matching plane was suspended, a scattering of real bats clinging to the supports.
"Where in the world?" Carefully, he walked towards the car, wondering if he was actually alive again, or if he was some sort of ghost now.
"Hey! Who are you, and how did you get in here?" The voice came from a boy, maybe fourteen years old, dressed in the most astonishing outfit that he'd ever seen outside of a circus. Tights, a pair of gloves, a cape... He even had a small mask. Something about the boy nagged at his memory, as if he felt like he should recognize him from somewhere.
"I'm Doyle. I'm thinking I'm supposed to be here," He ran one hand over his hair, and glanced down at his shirt, feeling slightly... well, more than slightly rumpled.
"Why do you say that?" The voice came from a tall shape, a bit of shadow cloaked in black, with a mask that looked remarkably like the silhouette of a bat. He oozed brooding and danger much the way Angel had.
For a moment, Doyle debated asking if the bat-guy was another vampire. Hadn't he had enough to do with vampires already? But no, that wouldn't be the best way to start things. "Some voice told me that I was supposed to be the Seer for a Champion. Next thing I know, here I am."
"And you're going along with that?" The boy seemed doubtful, as if the whole thing made no sense to him.
Doyle shrugged, pleased to discover that he didn't seem to have any bruises, aches, residual headaches or anything else troubling him. "Considering that the last thing before that was my very own painful death... I wasn't inclined to argue."
"You died?" The looming man in black asked.
Doyle shrugged, trying not to look too closely at those memories. "I think so. Painful light, a bomb... I'm pretty sure that I died."
The boy moved, his outstretched hand passing right through Doyle's chest without any resistance. Doyle felt a moment of warmth flow through his middle, almost like drinking a shot of strong whiskey. "Well... I guess that I'm still dead."
"Holy... He's a ghost! Batman, what do we do about a ghost?" The boy was backing away, looking rather alarmed, or at least, as much as you could look alarmed with a mask on.
Doyle sighed, looking again at his outfit. "Does that mean that I'm stuck in this forever?"
The looming figure that had been called Batman looked over, his lips twitching in an effort not to smile. "So, what does a Seer do, and why do I merit one?"
"A Seer... well, they See. I get... The way it worked before was that I got visions of the future, things that should be prevented, people that need to be saved. I then tell my Champion - used to be a guy called Angel, broods about as much as you. Anyhow, I get a vision, tell the Champion, and the Champion goes out, saves the victims, defeats the bad guys, and generally saves the night."
"I thought that was supposed to be saves the day?" The boy asked, looking as if he was calming down a little.
"Not for Angel. Definitely night for him. And it looks like it'll be night time for this guy as well - the outfit doesn't say sunshine and good cheer." Doyle smiled, and then froze, realizing how much like Cordelia he'd sounded. Oh, now that was just a bit much, wasn't it? Hopefully, he wouldn't have as many problems with demons and vampires here.
"Oh. So, you get visions? Like a fortune teller?" The boy sounded curious.
"Less controlled. I can't try to see your future, but... I might get a warning that there's going to be an attack on a woman crossing Main and Seventh street. Hopefully without the killer headaches." He sighed, and wondered just what sort of limits this ghost thing came with. "So, where am I?"
"Gotham City." There was a trace of amusement in Batman's voice. "Specifically, the bat-cave."
"Ahhh, wonderful. I was just starting to get used to a detective agency in Los Angeles, and now I'm on the other side of the country. Ah well."
Just then, a red telephone lit up as it rang. Batman glanced at the boy, and pointed towards the car as he moved to answer the phone. "What's the trouble, Commissioner Gordon?"
Doyle sighed, now certain that things would continue to be interesting. Lucky him.
End Brooding Champion #2.