Short Story: Under the Chapiteau
Title: Under the Chapiteau
Author: razothredfire
Rating: PG
Pairing: Implied Bruce/Joker, pre-slash.
Synopsis: Bruce attends a new local indie circus with a date and runs into someone he never expected to see.
Bruce Wayne smiled and nodded at the woman across from him - Natasha, he reminded himself - and repeated her wine request to the waiter. It was shaping up to be a typical early evening for Bruce Wayne: dinner, booze, and a beautiful woman he’d only see two or three times before cutting off the relationship, all against the backdrop of the latest fad locale or event. This latest was a new take on dinner theater - an intimate, edgy circus with waited tables instead of conventional seats. Space didn’t come cheap in crowded Gotham, so it wasn’t in the best part of town, but they seemed to have adequate security to put their customers at ease, especially on opening night.
Somewhat thankful that the show would minimize the amount of meaningless small talk he’d have to make with his date, their orders arrived just as the lights began to dim and the Emcee stepped out to give the opening speech. Bruce and Natasha both quirked smiles and commented on the Emcee’s outrageous costume and the billionaire began cutting into his steak as the first act came onto the stage. It was a team of jugglers - fairly common, but as the act progressed they began to use an unconventional variety of objects, which spiced things up a bit.
Applauding as the jugglers finished up and dashed off stage, Bruce was about to make another pleasant comment to Natasha when the next act stepped out - a single blond man dressed in a black leotard that only bared his feet, arms, and head. He didn’t look out of place at all, green eyes calmly staring out against the blinding spotlight as the speakers began to play an intense cello piece. It quickly became apparent that the man was a contortionist.
Bruce’s gut instinct caused him to pay more attention to this act than he normally would have. He didn’t recognize the man, but… something was off about him. The blond spent a good few minutes bending himself into impossible knots and poses, appearing to effortlessly dislocate joints and shooting sensual looks at the crowd he couldn’t see in between each trick. The last was somehow more than a little distracting, much to Bruce’s discomfort, and he breathed a sigh of mixed relief and disappointment when the man backflipped off the stage, cuing a team of acrobats to flip into the center spotlight.
A few more acts passed without much note, impressive and colorful but still standard fare. Bruce was on his second supposed glass of wine when the blond man reappeared - alone again, dressed the same but carrying some sort of equipment dangling from both hands. As the music cued up, Bruce recognized the song as one that had been popular in the clubs a few years back. Predictably, the man set fire to what was revealed to be a set of poi and immediately began dancing, doing complicated, dangerous weaves as the singer began to growl in the background. “I’m the trouble starter, fuckin’ instigator. I’m the fear addicted, danger illustrated.”
Bruce’s nerves were tingling, and now, now, with the blond man twirling circles and spirals of fire around himself almost carelessly, Bruce was beginning to get an inkling of why. Maybe he was getting more paranoid than usual, but the dreamlike look on the performer’s face, completely uncaring in the face of danger… reminded him of the same expression he’d seen on the face of another man, one whose mouth was twisted by scares into a grotesque mockery of a smile. The fact that the man was surrounded by flames at the moment only increased his feelings of déjà-vu. Bruce leaned forward, trying to scrutinize the man’s face for any giveaways, any hints, vaguely aware that he was being observed by his date.
The poi eventually ran out of fuel at the end of the song and the blond performer moved offstage again, much to Bruce’s irritation. He was jolted out of his train of thought by a question from Natasha. “Hmmm?”
“I said, what’s so interesting? You’ve stared more at that guy than anyone else in the show,” she commented, raising an eyebrow. Bruce had been perfectly nice to her this evening, if a little airheaded, but she was beginning to wonder if there wasn’t some truth to the rumors; that Wayne was gay, ashamed of it, and used the women he dated as beards to disguise the fact. He’d certainly never looked at her like he had at the blond man, and she’d never seen any candids scored by the paparazzi that had matched that intense, heated expression.
“Oh. It just seemed unusual to me. I thought circus performers specialized in a certain area of expertise and rarely ever crossed over. I’d imagine it takes a lot of practice, otherwise the Jack of All Trade types would be common.” It was a lame rationalization, he knew, and that was confirmed when Natasha rolled her eyes, taking a sip of wine and magnanimously letting the topic drop as her attention shifted to a team of plate spinners.
That was another odd thing. Every other performer seemed to work in a coordinated team. The blond man had performed alone twice.
Bruce found he couldn’t pay attention to the rest of the acts, his mind drifted back to recollections of a ragged clown, green eyes blazing from kohl-blackened sockets as he laughed and destroyed everything around himself. Bruce could feel his expression going blank and stiff; hopefully the darkness of the audience’s side of the room would partially disguise it as simple boredom.
His attention was brought back to the present when the lights onstage shut off, plunging the room into darkness. The Emcee announced that they’d reached the final act for the night. Bruce could just hear the clicking of machinery behind the boom of the Emcee’s voice on the speakers. The lights came up and revealed that man again, kneeling on the ground, a dark blood-red scarf wrapped around his throat before it trailed off to some sort of fixture in the ceiling. A brooding, slow tune began to play from the speakers as the man slowly removed the scarf from his neck, then began to ascend up the twin lengths of fabric. Chills prickled Bruce’s skin as the singer of this musical piece began to whisper ominously about falling down a rabbit hole.
As soon as he reached the top, the man began to sinuously twine the scarves around himself, twisting and contorting and letting himself occasionally fall like a Jacob’s Ladder, oblivious to the fact that there were no nets below him to save him if he fell. His movements looked deceptively effortless, and they were unquestioningly designed to be seductive. The entire theater was the quietest it’d been since they’d started, the only sounds the music and the rustle of fabric onstage.
The performer tumbled suddenly down the scarf, stopped just as suddenly by a knot around his ankle as he hung upside down, and suddenly Bruce knew. His mind flashed back to the last time he’d seen Joker suspended like that, the memory matching the sight before him in certain ways. The look on the man’s face, the fall of his hair, the twist of his body as he hung - somehow, it was him. Bruce barely noticed when his date huffed in disgust and disappointment, her suspicions confirmed, and left the table to go catch a cab home.
Bruce was riveted, watching every dreamlike, suspended contortion and drop, following the impossible, sensual twist of limbs and brief glimpses of handsome, unmarked face. When the man tied a knot in the scarves and dropped a startling number of feet, shifting until he was hanging from a loop at the back of his head, Bruce felt another shiver run through him. He was sure. He watched the performer lock his legs out in a split before going limp and still, simulating a hanging, and Bruce was damn sure. It was Joker.
The music and lights dimmed as the stage crew lowered the scarves until the man’s feet touched the ground, curtains dropping and lights coming on in the audience’s side of the room. The Emcee was giving his final speech when Bruce tossed down enough cash to cover the dinner and booked it for the manager’s office.
A startled but professional face answered Bruce’s knocks. “Oh, Mr. Wayne. A pleasure to have you with us tonight. Is there something I can do for you?”
“Yes, actually. I was a bit curious about one of the performers - the man in the last act. That was impressive. Would it be possible to meet him and have him autograph the playbill?”
The manager’s face froze for a moment before he continued with his smiles and pleasantries, but Bruce hadn’t missed his flinch. “Oh, it might be. I’m afraid that Jay isn’t normally in our company - he’s just contracted for a short time while we’re in Gotham. We offered him a more permanent position, but I’m afraid he was unwilling to travel with us. He tends to be intensely private and doesn’t always get along the best with the rest of our staff.” Seeing Bruce’s determined look, well aware that such a prestigious patron could be a windfall for the company, the manager coughed. “…well, I suppose it couldn’t hurt to ask. Please follow me.” He had a feeling Bruce Wayne was unused to hearing ‘no’ and wouldn’t patiently wait around in the office just to receive a negative response.
Taking the billionaire around back, avoiding the changing rooms, they wound through a confusing muddle of stage equipment, costumes, makeup kits, and performers busily celebrating a successful opening. They found the blond man in the corner of one back room, still dressed in his stage garb and busily packing equipment into a duffel bag. He whipped around suddenly at the sound of their footsteps, wary anger swiftly transforming into a pleasant smile. “Tony. To what do I owe the visit?”
Gods, that voice. And that smile. It was missing the scars, but it was unmistakable, at least for him. He’d seen it too often, too up close and personal. Shaking himself out of the reverie, Bruce stepped forward to join the manager, trying not to make his scrutiny of the Joker’s face too obvious. “I’m afraid I asked him to do me a favor. I was impressed with the show and wanted a chance to meet you, Mister…”
“Jay, just as it says in the program.” Catching Bruce’s look, his smile deepened, a clever light sparking in his eyes. “Sorry, Mr. Wayne. I don’t ever give my real name out.”
“That’s unfortunate. I don’t suppose you’d mind…?” Bruce asked, holding out the playbill and a pen. Joker stared at the items for a second before realizing what Bruce was implying, taking them and quickly signing in the empty space next to where his acts were listed. Bruce accepted them back and couldn’t help but smile - the man had been bold enough to sign only a spidery, embellished letter J, accompanied by a smilie face.
“Is that all then?” joker was impatient to get paid and get out - out of this outfit, this face, this building and back to where he was comfortable.
“Just one more small boon,” Bruce said apologetically, shooting a glance at the manager fidgeting beside him. It was interesting, seeing that other people sensed something off about the man, some dangerous aura. “Would you mind showing me those flips one more time?”
Rolling his eyes with a grin, the yellowed teeth rather alarming in such a normal face, Joker acquiesced. “Fine. Tony, go clear people out of the hallway near here.” Shooting Bruce an amused look, Joker quirked an eyebrow. “I’ll admit, I’d heard the rumors, but I didn’t think you’d be the type, Mr. Wayne.” Moving out into the hallway, Joker got a running start, backflipping at an alarming speed, breaking off and turning around in midair just before he’d have hit Bruce. Shooting him another unsettling grin as he glanced up and straightened his spine, the blond man winked. “Always glad to provide a thrill.” With that he turned on his heel, scooping up the duffel bag as he left the room.
Bruce was left staring at where Joker’s retreating figure had been when the manager returned, apologizing for the performer’s brusque, flippant attitude. Bruce brushed him off with polite reassurances. “You said he’s not a regular employee.” When the manager dithered, probably to avoid admitting questionable hiring and payroll practices, Bruce pressed on. “Will he not be at every performance, then?”
“…oh. No, he’s contracted to appear regularly for as long as we’re in Gotham. A few weeks at the very least.”
Bruce considered this. He told himself that it was purely business… but part of him had to admit it: he wanted to see Joker’s performances again. All of them, especially the last, tangled in fabric and suspending in midair, helple-
BUSINESS, he reminded himself, thanking the manager and leaving. He stared at the signed program the entire drive home.
Gotham was abuzz with gossip over the next few weeks. Bruce Wayne had come forward as a sponsor for yet another performing art group, which wasn’t anything unusual, but a slighted former girlfriend had levied a claim that it was because he was having a fling with one of the performers. The scandal rags and paparazzi were scrambling to uncover more dirt, but so far all they’d turned up was one fact, confirmed by many witnesses.
Bruce Wayne had never missed a single show of the circus in question.
Fin.
A/N: Songs used as a soundtrack include Escape Artist by Zoe Keaating for the contortion act, Firestarter by The Prodigy for the fire poi act, and for the final aerial silks act. The aerial silks scene is directly inspired by Svetlana Goncharova's amazing performance. (Literally, insert a mental image of J.)
For an impressive look at fire poi, this is a fantastic demonstration. It becomes very intense about a minute and a half in.
Author: razothredfire
Rating: PG
Pairing: Implied Bruce/Joker, pre-slash.
Synopsis: Bruce attends a new local indie circus with a date and runs into someone he never expected to see.
Bruce Wayne smiled and nodded at the woman across from him - Natasha, he reminded himself - and repeated her wine request to the waiter. It was shaping up to be a typical early evening for Bruce Wayne: dinner, booze, and a beautiful woman he’d only see two or three times before cutting off the relationship, all against the backdrop of the latest fad locale or event. This latest was a new take on dinner theater - an intimate, edgy circus with waited tables instead of conventional seats. Space didn’t come cheap in crowded Gotham, so it wasn’t in the best part of town, but they seemed to have adequate security to put their customers at ease, especially on opening night.
Somewhat thankful that the show would minimize the amount of meaningless small talk he’d have to make with his date, their orders arrived just as the lights began to dim and the Emcee stepped out to give the opening speech. Bruce and Natasha both quirked smiles and commented on the Emcee’s outrageous costume and the billionaire began cutting into his steak as the first act came onto the stage. It was a team of jugglers - fairly common, but as the act progressed they began to use an unconventional variety of objects, which spiced things up a bit.
Applauding as the jugglers finished up and dashed off stage, Bruce was about to make another pleasant comment to Natasha when the next act stepped out - a single blond man dressed in a black leotard that only bared his feet, arms, and head. He didn’t look out of place at all, green eyes calmly staring out against the blinding spotlight as the speakers began to play an intense cello piece. It quickly became apparent that the man was a contortionist.
Bruce’s gut instinct caused him to pay more attention to this act than he normally would have. He didn’t recognize the man, but… something was off about him. The blond spent a good few minutes bending himself into impossible knots and poses, appearing to effortlessly dislocate joints and shooting sensual looks at the crowd he couldn’t see in between each trick. The last was somehow more than a little distracting, much to Bruce’s discomfort, and he breathed a sigh of mixed relief and disappointment when the man backflipped off the stage, cuing a team of acrobats to flip into the center spotlight.
A few more acts passed without much note, impressive and colorful but still standard fare. Bruce was on his second supposed glass of wine when the blond man reappeared - alone again, dressed the same but carrying some sort of equipment dangling from both hands. As the music cued up, Bruce recognized the song as one that had been popular in the clubs a few years back. Predictably, the man set fire to what was revealed to be a set of poi and immediately began dancing, doing complicated, dangerous weaves as the singer began to growl in the background. “I’m the trouble starter, fuckin’ instigator. I’m the fear addicted, danger illustrated.”
Bruce’s nerves were tingling, and now, now, with the blond man twirling circles and spirals of fire around himself almost carelessly, Bruce was beginning to get an inkling of why. Maybe he was getting more paranoid than usual, but the dreamlike look on the performer’s face, completely uncaring in the face of danger… reminded him of the same expression he’d seen on the face of another man, one whose mouth was twisted by scares into a grotesque mockery of a smile. The fact that the man was surrounded by flames at the moment only increased his feelings of déjà-vu. Bruce leaned forward, trying to scrutinize the man’s face for any giveaways, any hints, vaguely aware that he was being observed by his date.
The poi eventually ran out of fuel at the end of the song and the blond performer moved offstage again, much to Bruce’s irritation. He was jolted out of his train of thought by a question from Natasha. “Hmmm?”
“I said, what’s so interesting? You’ve stared more at that guy than anyone else in the show,” she commented, raising an eyebrow. Bruce had been perfectly nice to her this evening, if a little airheaded, but she was beginning to wonder if there wasn’t some truth to the rumors; that Wayne was gay, ashamed of it, and used the women he dated as beards to disguise the fact. He’d certainly never looked at her like he had at the blond man, and she’d never seen any candids scored by the paparazzi that had matched that intense, heated expression.
“Oh. It just seemed unusual to me. I thought circus performers specialized in a certain area of expertise and rarely ever crossed over. I’d imagine it takes a lot of practice, otherwise the Jack of All Trade types would be common.” It was a lame rationalization, he knew, and that was confirmed when Natasha rolled her eyes, taking a sip of wine and magnanimously letting the topic drop as her attention shifted to a team of plate spinners.
That was another odd thing. Every other performer seemed to work in a coordinated team. The blond man had performed alone twice.
Bruce found he couldn’t pay attention to the rest of the acts, his mind drifted back to recollections of a ragged clown, green eyes blazing from kohl-blackened sockets as he laughed and destroyed everything around himself. Bruce could feel his expression going blank and stiff; hopefully the darkness of the audience’s side of the room would partially disguise it as simple boredom.
His attention was brought back to the present when the lights onstage shut off, plunging the room into darkness. The Emcee announced that they’d reached the final act for the night. Bruce could just hear the clicking of machinery behind the boom of the Emcee’s voice on the speakers. The lights came up and revealed that man again, kneeling on the ground, a dark blood-red scarf wrapped around his throat before it trailed off to some sort of fixture in the ceiling. A brooding, slow tune began to play from the speakers as the man slowly removed the scarf from his neck, then began to ascend up the twin lengths of fabric. Chills prickled Bruce’s skin as the singer of this musical piece began to whisper ominously about falling down a rabbit hole.
As soon as he reached the top, the man began to sinuously twine the scarves around himself, twisting and contorting and letting himself occasionally fall like a Jacob’s Ladder, oblivious to the fact that there were no nets below him to save him if he fell. His movements looked deceptively effortless, and they were unquestioningly designed to be seductive. The entire theater was the quietest it’d been since they’d started, the only sounds the music and the rustle of fabric onstage.
The performer tumbled suddenly down the scarf, stopped just as suddenly by a knot around his ankle as he hung upside down, and suddenly Bruce knew. His mind flashed back to the last time he’d seen Joker suspended like that, the memory matching the sight before him in certain ways. The look on the man’s face, the fall of his hair, the twist of his body as he hung - somehow, it was him. Bruce barely noticed when his date huffed in disgust and disappointment, her suspicions confirmed, and left the table to go catch a cab home.
Bruce was riveted, watching every dreamlike, suspended contortion and drop, following the impossible, sensual twist of limbs and brief glimpses of handsome, unmarked face. When the man tied a knot in the scarves and dropped a startling number of feet, shifting until he was hanging from a loop at the back of his head, Bruce felt another shiver run through him. He was sure. He watched the performer lock his legs out in a split before going limp and still, simulating a hanging, and Bruce was damn sure. It was Joker.
The music and lights dimmed as the stage crew lowered the scarves until the man’s feet touched the ground, curtains dropping and lights coming on in the audience’s side of the room. The Emcee was giving his final speech when Bruce tossed down enough cash to cover the dinner and booked it for the manager’s office.
A startled but professional face answered Bruce’s knocks. “Oh, Mr. Wayne. A pleasure to have you with us tonight. Is there something I can do for you?”
“Yes, actually. I was a bit curious about one of the performers - the man in the last act. That was impressive. Would it be possible to meet him and have him autograph the playbill?”
The manager’s face froze for a moment before he continued with his smiles and pleasantries, but Bruce hadn’t missed his flinch. “Oh, it might be. I’m afraid that Jay isn’t normally in our company - he’s just contracted for a short time while we’re in Gotham. We offered him a more permanent position, but I’m afraid he was unwilling to travel with us. He tends to be intensely private and doesn’t always get along the best with the rest of our staff.” Seeing Bruce’s determined look, well aware that such a prestigious patron could be a windfall for the company, the manager coughed. “…well, I suppose it couldn’t hurt to ask. Please follow me.” He had a feeling Bruce Wayne was unused to hearing ‘no’ and wouldn’t patiently wait around in the office just to receive a negative response.
Taking the billionaire around back, avoiding the changing rooms, they wound through a confusing muddle of stage equipment, costumes, makeup kits, and performers busily celebrating a successful opening. They found the blond man in the corner of one back room, still dressed in his stage garb and busily packing equipment into a duffel bag. He whipped around suddenly at the sound of their footsteps, wary anger swiftly transforming into a pleasant smile. “Tony. To what do I owe the visit?”
Gods, that voice. And that smile. It was missing the scars, but it was unmistakable, at least for him. He’d seen it too often, too up close and personal. Shaking himself out of the reverie, Bruce stepped forward to join the manager, trying not to make his scrutiny of the Joker’s face too obvious. “I’m afraid I asked him to do me a favor. I was impressed with the show and wanted a chance to meet you, Mister…”
“Jay, just as it says in the program.” Catching Bruce’s look, his smile deepened, a clever light sparking in his eyes. “Sorry, Mr. Wayne. I don’t ever give my real name out.”
“That’s unfortunate. I don’t suppose you’d mind…?” Bruce asked, holding out the playbill and a pen. Joker stared at the items for a second before realizing what Bruce was implying, taking them and quickly signing in the empty space next to where his acts were listed. Bruce accepted them back and couldn’t help but smile - the man had been bold enough to sign only a spidery, embellished letter J, accompanied by a smilie face.
“Is that all then?” joker was impatient to get paid and get out - out of this outfit, this face, this building and back to where he was comfortable.
“Just one more small boon,” Bruce said apologetically, shooting a glance at the manager fidgeting beside him. It was interesting, seeing that other people sensed something off about the man, some dangerous aura. “Would you mind showing me those flips one more time?”
Rolling his eyes with a grin, the yellowed teeth rather alarming in such a normal face, Joker acquiesced. “Fine. Tony, go clear people out of the hallway near here.” Shooting Bruce an amused look, Joker quirked an eyebrow. “I’ll admit, I’d heard the rumors, but I didn’t think you’d be the type, Mr. Wayne.” Moving out into the hallway, Joker got a running start, backflipping at an alarming speed, breaking off and turning around in midair just before he’d have hit Bruce. Shooting him another unsettling grin as he glanced up and straightened his spine, the blond man winked. “Always glad to provide a thrill.” With that he turned on his heel, scooping up the duffel bag as he left the room.
Bruce was left staring at where Joker’s retreating figure had been when the manager returned, apologizing for the performer’s brusque, flippant attitude. Bruce brushed him off with polite reassurances. “You said he’s not a regular employee.” When the manager dithered, probably to avoid admitting questionable hiring and payroll practices, Bruce pressed on. “Will he not be at every performance, then?”
“…oh. No, he’s contracted to appear regularly for as long as we’re in Gotham. A few weeks at the very least.”
Bruce considered this. He told himself that it was purely business… but part of him had to admit it: he wanted to see Joker’s performances again. All of them, especially the last, tangled in fabric and suspending in midair, helple-
BUSINESS, he reminded himself, thanking the manager and leaving. He stared at the signed program the entire drive home.
Gotham was abuzz with gossip over the next few weeks. Bruce Wayne had come forward as a sponsor for yet another performing art group, which wasn’t anything unusual, but a slighted former girlfriend had levied a claim that it was because he was having a fling with one of the performers. The scandal rags and paparazzi were scrambling to uncover more dirt, but so far all they’d turned up was one fact, confirmed by many witnesses.
Bruce Wayne had never missed a single show of the circus in question.
Fin.
A/N: Songs used as a soundtrack include Escape Artist by Zoe Keaating for the contortion act, Firestarter by The Prodigy for the fire poi act, and for the final aerial silks act. The aerial silks scene is directly inspired by Svetlana Goncharova's amazing performance. (Literally, insert a mental image of J.)
For an impressive look at fire poi, this is a fantastic demonstration. It becomes very intense about a minute and a half in.