[Fic] Funny Business (2/7)
Title: Funny Business, Part 2 (of 7)
Series: TDS, TCR, Batman
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Language, violence, clowns. Includes some comic book logic.
Summary: They say dying is easy and comedy is hard, and for writerless Jon and Stephen, it's never been more true-- until they're paid a visit by Gotham City's most notorious comedian.
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
(Jump to Part: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7)
earlier
"Stephen, he's not here."
"Who isn't here?" Stephen said, adjusting his tie in the mirror. He glanced at Allison's reflection.
She stood in the doorway behind him, frowning with her arms folded.
"Kirk Donovan."
His hands froze. "Please, please tell me you're kidding," Stephen said, staring at her in the mirror. "This is a joke, right? Right?"
Allison held out her hands in helplessness. "He disappeared from the green room, and Emily and I've been everywhere looking for him, but he's just gone!"
Stephen finally turned. "So he showed up. And then he just left?"
"Maybe he changed his mind about crossing the picket line?" She shook her head. "I'm sorry, Stephen."
"Great. Fantastic." Stephen threw up his hands. First Andrew Sullivan had called that afternoon, apologizing profusely because he had to attend to a family emergency, and now the only other guest had flaked.
Allison folded her arms again. "I could get Emily to make some calls--"
"No, no," Stephen spun back to the mirror and made one last adjustment to his tie. "It's too late. I'll just... just interview one of the interns... or something." He smiled wryly. "And if it sucks, hey, whatever encouragement we can give to get the writers back, right?"
She still seemed frustrated. "Yeah, sure," she muttered. "I'll see who wants to do it."
"Okay. Did you ask Mark how the crowd's looking?"
"Katie."
"What?"
"Mark's living in Ikea for the week, remember? Katie's filling in?"
"Oh, right. Right... She knows what to do, right? What to tell them? They need to--"
"Yes, Stephen!" Allison laughed. "She knows. Don't worry."
"Hey." He flashed a cocky grin over his shoulder. "I never worry."
"Yeah, yeah," she replied, smiling back. "Because you have the truth on your side."
"And a Nation behind me."
She left, and Stephen stared at himself for a full five minutes. It was going to be fine, he told himself. Just keep it high energy. Keep the audience excited, feed off their fervor, maintain the cycle. If worse came to worse and the interview didn't pan out, they could rerun an old clip. It was going to be fine. He'd been doing the Report for two years. This was just a bump in the road.
On the way to the studio, the nervousness persisted even when Allison caught up to tell him that one of the interns had volunteered to be scrutinized, even when he got word from Jimmy that everything was working fine on the technical side, even when he heard the audience laugh at Pete Dominick assessing if Canada was really a country.
I am not nervous, Stephen told himself. I am angry and ready to explain why at great length and detail, whether it's needed or not.
Standing at the split between the audience bleachers, with Pete listing his comedic accomplishments and Jimmy playing a drawn-out drumroll, the uneasy feeling finally began to settle. He was back. Incomplete without the whole team, but he was in his element, on the stage in front of an audience. He felt himself relax, like the calm was weaving into his suit. His character, that poor pundit, mewed a bit that he wasn't yet the center of attention, but Stephen just mentally patted him on the head. In a moment, in a moment.
"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!" Pete shouted, raising his arms as the set lights flashed. "STEPHEN COLBERT!"
Cheap Trick blasted through the speakers and Stephen burst into the studio, grabbing the microphone from Pete as he passed him. The crowd jumped to their feet, cheering and whooping, and Stephen ran back and forth past the front row, slapping hands. He jogged around his desk and made a (careful, well-calculated) leap off the platform, tossing the mic into the air and catching it as he landed in front of the bleachers.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" Stephen said, bowing. He couldn't keep the smile from his face. "It's good to be back, thank you!" His smile broke into laughter as the cheers went on and on. "Thank you, thank you very much!" He scanned the crowd as the noise enveloped him, nodding and repeating his thanks now and then. After a minute, he finally rose his hands high and lowered them slowly. Sure enough, the lower his hands got, the quieter the audience became. He played with them, raising and lowering his hands a few times, until the crowd sounded like they were on a roller coaster, then decided it was enough and lowered his arms to his sides.
"STEPHEN, WE LOVE YOU!" a group of girls screeched from the front row just as the noise died.
"Well, duh!" Stephen replied, and what had almost turned into another round of hollers and applause was taken up by laughter. "Please, sit, sit, thank you!" The crowd settled in their seats and he took a moment to breathe and look at them all. "Wow. You guys have no idea how great it is to see you, to have an audience again," Stephen said sincerely. He thought his face would break from his grin. "Not that the show is up to par without a script, but it's fantastic to have you here. Thank you for coming.
"Alright, does anyone have any questions to humanize me before I start saying all these awful things?"
A few hands went up, and Stephen glanced from person to person. He was about to pick a young girl in the front row on his right when movement from the left caught his eye. A man in a long brown coat with a fedora pulled down over his face waved his hand enthusiastically. The corner of Stephen's mouth quirked. The guy looked like an old movie P.I. The pig-tailed blonde next to him should've worn a tight red dress with her hair down under a pillbox hat.
Stephen pointed the man out. "Yes, sir, you look excited to be here."
The man smiled then, and his mouth stretched so big and wide that for a moment Stephen actually felt frightened. "What did you think of Mr. Donovan's book?" the man asked, still grinning. His voice was strangely playful, almost like a leer.
Stephen swallowed and told himself to get a grip. So the guy had a weird smile. There wasn't any need to be worried; after all, security included a metal detector. "Well," he said, averting his eyes from the man's teeth to glance around at the rest of the audience, "I only read part of it, but it's interesting, to say the least. Hard not to make a profile of a lunatic interesting."
"But the Joker is no garden-variety lunatic," the man pressed.
"Well, no, I wouldn't say that. But I'm not sure I would call Charles Manson or Ed Gein garden-variety either."
"You group them together," the man said. It didn't sound like a question. More like a disappointed statement, almost in an angry way, if it weren't for that smile.
"Well, I'm no expert on psychopaths."
"Clearly."
The people sitting around the trench coat man glanced at each other, except for the blonde, who stared at him adoringly. She didn't seem to be paying much attention to the question-and-answer session at all, yet once Stephen looked at her, she caught his eye and winked. He coughed and moved on. "Um, of course, now is probably the time to tell you all that Kirk Donovan chose not to cross the picket line. We essentially have no guest for tonight's show." Stephen plastered on a big sarcastic smile.
"So you need someone else to interview?" the trench coat man spoke up again. He was still grinning. Stephen wished he would stop.
"Too short notice," Stephen said. "You'll be treated to the life and times of Katie the Intern tonight." He gestured to Katie, standing off to the side.
"HA!" The man stood up, taking off his hat and flinging it across the studio. His brown hair was tousled and somehow looked askew. "And why not an audience member? Be adventurous, man!"
Stephen was shocked when the man shoved past the others in his row and made his way down the steps. "Hey!" Stephen exclaimed.
Katie came forward, hands out in front of her in a calming gesture. Security was already moving in. "Sir, please sit down," she said. "You can't just--"
The man didn't acknowledge that Katie had said anything at all, just grinned wickedly at the two security guards who rushed forward. As they reached for him-- and Stephen wouldn't have believed it if he hadn't seen it-- the cute blonde hopped up onto her seat, flipped over five rows, landed in front of the man, and jumped up again, legs spread in a midair split. Her sneakers crunched into the face of each security guard, and they both collapsed, prompting gasps and cries from the audience.
Stephen was so shocked that when the grinning man grabbed his arm and pulled him closer to the set all he did was stumble, still dumbly clutching the microphone in his hand. He stared at the man's face, and he suddenly realized that he recognized it, that pointed nose, those wild eyes, but from where?
"H-hey!" he snapped, shaking his arm free. "What's going on here?" He warily eyed the fallen security and took a step back. Where were the other guards? "Is this some kind of gag?!"
"Well, I hadn't thought about gagging you, but if you're going to get mouthy it's not a bad idea," the man said, pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiping at his forehead.
"Get settled, ladies and gents!" the blonde ordered, voice high-pitched with something like a Brooklyn accent. She cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted, "Alright, boys, close it off!"
Stephen heard doors slam backstage, and suddenly a group of bulky men in black body suits streamed into the studio. Each wore a mask of white face paint and carried a ridiculously cartoonish gun. Stephen was again struck dumb until a few of them started grabbing the staff-- Allison and Pete and interns and everyone-- and roughly escorted them backstage. One goon carried out the unconscious guards over his shoulders. There was movement up in the control room, and Jimmy and his assistants disappeared, strange men left in their places.
"What is this?!" Stephen blurted out, turning back to the man. "Why...." He trailed off, because the grinning man's forehead was turning white, and a flesh tone smeared onto the handkerchief. "What... you..."
"Speechless? I thought you were in improv, Steve!" the man giggled. He grabbed a fistful of brown hair and yanked it off. The green hair beneath was disheveled, and Stephen could see the line of white skin at the hair line. The Joker wiped at his mouth with his coat sleeve, leaving behind a smear of ivory skin and blood red lips. With a cackle he tossed the wig at Stephen, who reeled backward as it flew past his head. The Joker shot forward and grabbed his tie, pulling him close.
The audience screamed and by the clamor beneath their cries Stephen could only suppose they were trying to get out. He didn't see them; he couldn't look away from those wide, mad eyes. He couldn't even move, didn't feel like he was there, in his body. Yeah, that had to be it. This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening.
"NOT SO FAST!" the blonde yelled, and Stephen instinctively ducked when two shots erupted. The Joker laughed again. Stephen glanced around and saw the mime men blocking the exits and using their guns to usher men and women back into their seats.
"I'm not gonna tell you again: siddown!" Stephen's gaze was drawn to the blonde, addressing the crowd with her bulky revolver pointed toward the ceiling. Harley Quinn, he finally acknowledged. "The show is about to start!" she went on. "No bathroom breaks!"
The Joker jerked on Stephen's tie, regaining his attention. "Congratulations!" he exclaimed. "Steve, my boy, you get a once-in-a-lifetime chance to see a real comedian at work." Still holding the tie like an upside-down noose, he wrapped his free arm around Stephen's shoulders like they were old buddies and turned him toward the audience. "I know, I know, they all came to see you," the Joker's voice said sympathetically in his ear. Stephen's skin crawled. "But we mustn't let your cockiness get in the way of a good show!"
"Please," Stephen said. The words came out weak, and the Joker chortled. "Please let them go."
"What?" the Joker said in mock surprise. He tugged on the tie again, forcing Stephen closer to the awful grin. "What's a show without an audience?"
Series: TDS, TCR, Batman
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Language, violence, clowns. Includes some comic book logic.
Summary: They say dying is easy and comedy is hard, and for writerless Jon and Stephen, it's never been more true-- until they're paid a visit by Gotham City's most notorious comedian.
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
(Jump to Part: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7)
earlier
"Stephen, he's not here."
"Who isn't here?" Stephen said, adjusting his tie in the mirror. He glanced at Allison's reflection.
She stood in the doorway behind him, frowning with her arms folded.
"Kirk Donovan."
His hands froze. "Please, please tell me you're kidding," Stephen said, staring at her in the mirror. "This is a joke, right? Right?"
Allison held out her hands in helplessness. "He disappeared from the green room, and Emily and I've been everywhere looking for him, but he's just gone!"
Stephen finally turned. "So he showed up. And then he just left?"
"Maybe he changed his mind about crossing the picket line?" She shook her head. "I'm sorry, Stephen."
"Great. Fantastic." Stephen threw up his hands. First Andrew Sullivan had called that afternoon, apologizing profusely because he had to attend to a family emergency, and now the only other guest had flaked.
Allison folded her arms again. "I could get Emily to make some calls--"
"No, no," Stephen spun back to the mirror and made one last adjustment to his tie. "It's too late. I'll just... just interview one of the interns... or something." He smiled wryly. "And if it sucks, hey, whatever encouragement we can give to get the writers back, right?"
She still seemed frustrated. "Yeah, sure," she muttered. "I'll see who wants to do it."
"Okay. Did you ask Mark how the crowd's looking?"
"Katie."
"What?"
"Mark's living in Ikea for the week, remember? Katie's filling in?"
"Oh, right. Right... She knows what to do, right? What to tell them? They need to--"
"Yes, Stephen!" Allison laughed. "She knows. Don't worry."
"Hey." He flashed a cocky grin over his shoulder. "I never worry."
"Yeah, yeah," she replied, smiling back. "Because you have the truth on your side."
"And a Nation behind me."
She left, and Stephen stared at himself for a full five minutes. It was going to be fine, he told himself. Just keep it high energy. Keep the audience excited, feed off their fervor, maintain the cycle. If worse came to worse and the interview didn't pan out, they could rerun an old clip. It was going to be fine. He'd been doing the Report for two years. This was just a bump in the road.
On the way to the studio, the nervousness persisted even when Allison caught up to tell him that one of the interns had volunteered to be scrutinized, even when he got word from Jimmy that everything was working fine on the technical side, even when he heard the audience laugh at Pete Dominick assessing if Canada was really a country.
I am not nervous, Stephen told himself. I am angry and ready to explain why at great length and detail, whether it's needed or not.
Standing at the split between the audience bleachers, with Pete listing his comedic accomplishments and Jimmy playing a drawn-out drumroll, the uneasy feeling finally began to settle. He was back. Incomplete without the whole team, but he was in his element, on the stage in front of an audience. He felt himself relax, like the calm was weaving into his suit. His character, that poor pundit, mewed a bit that he wasn't yet the center of attention, but Stephen just mentally patted him on the head. In a moment, in a moment.
"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!" Pete shouted, raising his arms as the set lights flashed. "STEPHEN COLBERT!"
Cheap Trick blasted through the speakers and Stephen burst into the studio, grabbing the microphone from Pete as he passed him. The crowd jumped to their feet, cheering and whooping, and Stephen ran back and forth past the front row, slapping hands. He jogged around his desk and made a (careful, well-calculated) leap off the platform, tossing the mic into the air and catching it as he landed in front of the bleachers.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" Stephen said, bowing. He couldn't keep the smile from his face. "It's good to be back, thank you!" His smile broke into laughter as the cheers went on and on. "Thank you, thank you very much!" He scanned the crowd as the noise enveloped him, nodding and repeating his thanks now and then. After a minute, he finally rose his hands high and lowered them slowly. Sure enough, the lower his hands got, the quieter the audience became. He played with them, raising and lowering his hands a few times, until the crowd sounded like they were on a roller coaster, then decided it was enough and lowered his arms to his sides.
"STEPHEN, WE LOVE YOU!" a group of girls screeched from the front row just as the noise died.
"Well, duh!" Stephen replied, and what had almost turned into another round of hollers and applause was taken up by laughter. "Please, sit, sit, thank you!" The crowd settled in their seats and he took a moment to breathe and look at them all. "Wow. You guys have no idea how great it is to see you, to have an audience again," Stephen said sincerely. He thought his face would break from his grin. "Not that the show is up to par without a script, but it's fantastic to have you here. Thank you for coming.
"Alright, does anyone have any questions to humanize me before I start saying all these awful things?"
A few hands went up, and Stephen glanced from person to person. He was about to pick a young girl in the front row on his right when movement from the left caught his eye. A man in a long brown coat with a fedora pulled down over his face waved his hand enthusiastically. The corner of Stephen's mouth quirked. The guy looked like an old movie P.I. The pig-tailed blonde next to him should've worn a tight red dress with her hair down under a pillbox hat.
Stephen pointed the man out. "Yes, sir, you look excited to be here."
The man smiled then, and his mouth stretched so big and wide that for a moment Stephen actually felt frightened. "What did you think of Mr. Donovan's book?" the man asked, still grinning. His voice was strangely playful, almost like a leer.
Stephen swallowed and told himself to get a grip. So the guy had a weird smile. There wasn't any need to be worried; after all, security included a metal detector. "Well," he said, averting his eyes from the man's teeth to glance around at the rest of the audience, "I only read part of it, but it's interesting, to say the least. Hard not to make a profile of a lunatic interesting."
"But the Joker is no garden-variety lunatic," the man pressed.
"Well, no, I wouldn't say that. But I'm not sure I would call Charles Manson or Ed Gein garden-variety either."
"You group them together," the man said. It didn't sound like a question. More like a disappointed statement, almost in an angry way, if it weren't for that smile.
"Well, I'm no expert on psychopaths."
"Clearly."
The people sitting around the trench coat man glanced at each other, except for the blonde, who stared at him adoringly. She didn't seem to be paying much attention to the question-and-answer session at all, yet once Stephen looked at her, she caught his eye and winked. He coughed and moved on. "Um, of course, now is probably the time to tell you all that Kirk Donovan chose not to cross the picket line. We essentially have no guest for tonight's show." Stephen plastered on a big sarcastic smile.
"So you need someone else to interview?" the trench coat man spoke up again. He was still grinning. Stephen wished he would stop.
"Too short notice," Stephen said. "You'll be treated to the life and times of Katie the Intern tonight." He gestured to Katie, standing off to the side.
"HA!" The man stood up, taking off his hat and flinging it across the studio. His brown hair was tousled and somehow looked askew. "And why not an audience member? Be adventurous, man!"
Stephen was shocked when the man shoved past the others in his row and made his way down the steps. "Hey!" Stephen exclaimed.
Katie came forward, hands out in front of her in a calming gesture. Security was already moving in. "Sir, please sit down," she said. "You can't just--"
The man didn't acknowledge that Katie had said anything at all, just grinned wickedly at the two security guards who rushed forward. As they reached for him-- and Stephen wouldn't have believed it if he hadn't seen it-- the cute blonde hopped up onto her seat, flipped over five rows, landed in front of the man, and jumped up again, legs spread in a midair split. Her sneakers crunched into the face of each security guard, and they both collapsed, prompting gasps and cries from the audience.
Stephen was so shocked that when the grinning man grabbed his arm and pulled him closer to the set all he did was stumble, still dumbly clutching the microphone in his hand. He stared at the man's face, and he suddenly realized that he recognized it, that pointed nose, those wild eyes, but from where?
"H-hey!" he snapped, shaking his arm free. "What's going on here?" He warily eyed the fallen security and took a step back. Where were the other guards? "Is this some kind of gag?!"
"Well, I hadn't thought about gagging you, but if you're going to get mouthy it's not a bad idea," the man said, pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiping at his forehead.
"Get settled, ladies and gents!" the blonde ordered, voice high-pitched with something like a Brooklyn accent. She cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted, "Alright, boys, close it off!"
Stephen heard doors slam backstage, and suddenly a group of bulky men in black body suits streamed into the studio. Each wore a mask of white face paint and carried a ridiculously cartoonish gun. Stephen was again struck dumb until a few of them started grabbing the staff-- Allison and Pete and interns and everyone-- and roughly escorted them backstage. One goon carried out the unconscious guards over his shoulders. There was movement up in the control room, and Jimmy and his assistants disappeared, strange men left in their places.
"What is this?!" Stephen blurted out, turning back to the man. "Why...." He trailed off, because the grinning man's forehead was turning white, and a flesh tone smeared onto the handkerchief. "What... you..."
"Speechless? I thought you were in improv, Steve!" the man giggled. He grabbed a fistful of brown hair and yanked it off. The green hair beneath was disheveled, and Stephen could see the line of white skin at the hair line. The Joker wiped at his mouth with his coat sleeve, leaving behind a smear of ivory skin and blood red lips. With a cackle he tossed the wig at Stephen, who reeled backward as it flew past his head. The Joker shot forward and grabbed his tie, pulling him close.
The audience screamed and by the clamor beneath their cries Stephen could only suppose they were trying to get out. He didn't see them; he couldn't look away from those wide, mad eyes. He couldn't even move, didn't feel like he was there, in his body. Yeah, that had to be it. This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening.
"NOT SO FAST!" the blonde yelled, and Stephen instinctively ducked when two shots erupted. The Joker laughed again. Stephen glanced around and saw the mime men blocking the exits and using their guns to usher men and women back into their seats.
"I'm not gonna tell you again: siddown!" Stephen's gaze was drawn to the blonde, addressing the crowd with her bulky revolver pointed toward the ceiling. Harley Quinn, he finally acknowledged. "The show is about to start!" she went on. "No bathroom breaks!"
The Joker jerked on Stephen's tie, regaining his attention. "Congratulations!" he exclaimed. "Steve, my boy, you get a once-in-a-lifetime chance to see a real comedian at work." Still holding the tie like an upside-down noose, he wrapped his free arm around Stephen's shoulders like they were old buddies and turned him toward the audience. "I know, I know, they all came to see you," the Joker's voice said sympathetically in his ear. Stephen's skin crawled. "But we mustn't let your cockiness get in the way of a good show!"
"Please," Stephen said. The words came out weak, and the Joker chortled. "Please let them go."
"What?" the Joker said in mock surprise. He tugged on the tie again, forcing Stephen closer to the awful grin. "What's a show without an audience?"