#yes that is an infinity symbol as a spacer this time around

[fordarkisthesuede]

Fangs of Ouroboros - Chapter 2 - Digging Down to the Nitty-Gritty

Bet you didn't expect an update so soon, huh? ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Before we begin, please remember that the Ao3 version is available for Ao3 members only. So please circulate the links!

Last time...

After "visiting" Penguin in prison to find out why he wanted to destroy a P.I.'s office, Bruce discovers that Oswald has been corresponding with a assumed-to-be-deceased Lady Arkham. With more questions than answers, and another mystery on top of the ones he's already saddled with, Bruce tentatively leaves Tiffany and John to solve at least one - who created the bomb in the first place?

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It only took two seconds from Bruce making his leave for John to try and sit in his chair. 

One second too late.

“Hey, I wanted to sit this time!” he pouted, hands on his hips like a teenage girl.

“Too bad,” Tiffany shot back gloatingly, “You gotta be fast if you want to take the captain’s seat.” 

John glowered, crossed his arms, and defiantly situated himself partway onto the left armrest. If he moved too much, he’d definitely elbow her in the face. And most likely wouldn’t feel bad about it. “So, how’s it lookin’, Captain Robin?”

The list of matches to the partial fingerprint was long. Waaay too long. “Bad.” 

She attempted to filter out anyone arrested for previous explosive-related crimes, but there were still quite a few. Even when filtering out the dead ones. “Wow. Just life in Gotham, huh?”

John gave a derisive hee. “Tiff’, I’m a good juggler, but I didn’t get arrested for juggling crimes.”

He had a point, but she didn’t like the smug little smile he was looking down at her with. She wordlessly reset the filter for anyone with a background in firefighting, military, special effects, SWAT… Fifty-two potential suspects. Yikes.

“Of course, we’re just assuming they were ever arrested,” John commented.

“Are you kidding? Whoever they are, they definitely made this kind of stuff before.” She brought the 3D-image of the bomb over to the largest screen. She remembered what his homemade explosives were - essentially blocks of C4 with primitive (but accurate) timers attached to styrofoam heads. It was easier to show the example. “Look, the casing on this thing was custom-made. The timer was kind of cobbled-together, but the guy knew how to weld and solder right. See, the wires would have been really tight together. Like, practically perfect. The print was left in this tight area where he had to pick the explosive material up and connect it.”

John laughed - the kind where he actually found something funny. “You’ve been holding out on me! You’ve made one of these puppies?”

He reminded her of how one of her more distant relations would talk to her at the family barbeque when they found out what she did for a living. She wasn’t about to lie and tell him yes, even though she was sure she could make a duplicate any time she wanted. It would only give him ideas. “Not…exact-ly? But I know enough.”

“I don’t doubt it,” he added, looking strangely proud. “So why did it go kablooey early, then?”

Honestly, she wasn’t sure. The schematics Bruce and the AI pulled together looked almost perfect. Going by the remains of the board from the timer still attached to the very burnt-out wire, it likely wasn’t put in upside-down… But there was a gap above where the timer would have been. “Maybe it wasn’t,” she answered, “The timer might have had a shell cover.”

John hummed, pursing his lips and sitting back, but being mindful of her head. “So it could’ve been passed along with little Rocky none the wiser…”

“But it doesn’t make sense. Mr. Hartright is apparently just on vacation, and even if he goes into a coma, he could have cloud backups for his case files. Why destroy the office?”

“Well, either the bomb-maker hoped to kill whoever picked it up, or… Whoever ordered it specified the ‘wrong’ time.”

“I dunno, killing off his own men doesn’t sound like The Penguin…”

“No, it doesn’t…” John muttered, staring up at the list of suspects. “Any of our little rogue gallery in that list?” he asked, gesturing back to the glass cases of Batman’s foe-related memorabilia in the distance.

“‘Rouge gallery’?”

“What else do you call it? The Baddie Exhibit? The Scoundrel Repository? Villains on Display? Ha ha ha!”

“I dunno, I thought ‘Bruce’s weird trophy case’ was pretty on point,” she said with a shrug, filtering the search further for any major-player ‘rogues’. “And - doeeesn’t look like it.” A beat of silence between them, and she let herself ask what was practically dangling there:  “You really think one of them could be doing this?”

John leaned his head back with an annoyed sigh. “At this point, everybody’s a suspect. I wouldn’t put it past any of ‘em…”

Tiffany looked back at the list. There was a section she had ignored, being so focused on the people who could match the partial fingerprint:  recorded crimes where it was entered in as evidence. There might be something.

There were a few more cases than culprits. Only so many with bombs listed as evidence. 

But jugglers don’t always get arrested for juggling crimes. Tiffany warily set the filter for anything excluding the arrested suspects.

One result returned.

“I honestly didn’t expect that to work,” she commented aloud, feeling John shift on the armrest. “Looks like our print shows up in a second-degree murder case from five years ago… Mary Dahl and Waylon Jones - convicted of murder, conspiracy to cover, desecration of a corpse by CANNIBALISM?!”

“Oh-h-h, THAT’s why they’re familiar!” John clapped his hands together. “That was a great news cycle!”

“‘Suspect Waylon Jones was discovered barbequing the victim’s thigh in open air by the circus’ trailer park.’ God, that’s disgusting!”

“Well duuuh. That’s what made it such a great case! No one could hide their disgust on camera!” John laughed. “I still remember that cop in the background puking in the grass, live!”

She wasn’t feeling too good herself, now that she thought about it. John wasn’t helping, joyfully reminiscing about the news coverage of the guy’s freezer. “Apparently he hadn’t eaten any pieces yet, but of course they slapped him with the hard charges anyway. Still don’t know why he never ended up in Arkham… I knew three guys like that inside! One told me it tastes gamey.”

She couldn’t take any more. “John. Shut up.”

“...sorry.” 

Tiffany had learned enough ASL to translate his following hand gestures as “I’ll read silently”. “You better. I don’t want to get sick all over the keyboard.”

She took a deep breath, trying to focus on the background noise of rushing water behind her like Bruce had taught her as she covered her face with her hands. A deep breath in, focus fixed on the darkness of her eyelids as she dragged her fingers down the sides of her nose, and out. Another in - You can give it five minutes, and close it to pass to Bruce, she thought,You can do five minutes. - and out.

Mary Dahl, age 30, pleaded guilty to murder in the second degree. According to her statement, the victim, a local television producer by the name of Ben Uslan, came into her dressing room after following her from a magic act where she acted as the crowd participant. Ben made a pass at her (Tiffany felt a surge of sympathy with her disgust - Mary looked maybe seven), attempted to assault her, and Mary struck back (rightfully) with a glass whiskey decanter. Mary admitted to trying to cover up the crime by getting help from the circus’ sideshow-freak-slash-strongman, Waylon Jones, who dismembered and intended to eat the body.

Among the list of evidence was said decanter with the partial print found on the body of the rectangular glass, which was looked over when compared to Mary’s on the bottle neck. When the victim’s head was retrieved from the nearby wooded area (Tiffany grimaced and scrolled past the autopsy photo as fast as she could, only to have to go back up to read), Waylon took the blame for the second impact mark on the skull, claiming to have kicked it.

Tiffany leaned on the other armrest, trying to think while pushing the glimpse of the disgusting photo out of her mind. How the hell Bruce did this every day was a mystery itself. The waterfall was both too quiet to focus on and too loud. The coroner had stitched the head and hands back on like it was a sick puzzle put back together. The marks where a saw had cut through were so noticeable -

“Okay, I can’t take it - please say something!”

“They must’ve been close,” John said softly.

Tiffany looked over at him. John was staring at the page for Waylon Jones, which he’d clearly read to the bottom, with a sort of serious, contemplative look she’d never seen on him before.

“They both tried to take the fall for each other. You don’t see many people willing to do that.” It almost sounded like…he admired them. But surely John wasn’t that off-kilter. “That kind of dedication… It’s almost nice. You know,” he shrugged, his usual humor returning in a flash with one of his wider smiles, “if it weren’t for the attempted cannibalism-barbeque thing. So what did you find?”

“Aside from more nightmare fuel?” she asked rhetorically, breaking the weird mood he had built, “The print showed up on the murder-weapon, but no one mentioned a third person hanging around the scene.”

“And of course our good ol’ morons in blue completely ignored it.”

“Eeex-actly.” Tiffany crossed her arms and looked back at the long list of potential suspects. Things were becoming a little clearer, now that she was thinking aloud. “Someone here must have followed the producer and waited until Mary Dahl struck him. That, or they found him afterward and finished him off… But it sounds really stupid now that I say it.”

“Hey, anything’s possible!” John added cheerfully. “But I think you’re onto something, mon Capitaine – stalking to kill is classic.”

“Looks like there’s three people who used to work for Gotham TV here. Writer Lahn Myne, military-veteran turned cameraman Bonnie Behti, and special effects artist Garfield Lynns. Looks like there were some layoffs that year.”

“Mm-hmm… Hey, Tiffany.” (This was going to be a favor, wasn’t it? He hardly ever used her full name nowadays.) “What would you say to a little field trip?”

She wasn’t really sure where he was going with this. Knowing John, what he was planning was probably weirdly complex. “If you’re thinking we would have the time to visit all three,” she guessed, “you’re way off….for a lot of reasons.”

“Ha ha ha! No, no - what would be the point? It’s been five years! Any evidence is kaput, and I doubt we’d get a confession. No, I was thinking we’d try and get an eyewitness account.”

Yup. She knew it. Weird and complex. “You want to…what, visit the circus murderers in BlackGate? John, that’s…” 

Crazy, she wanted to say. Completely asinine. But she stopped herself, remembering John didn’t like that particular word, and truthfully… It was crazy, but it might work. A witness who didn’t know they were one was more likely to be believed. 

“...not a bad idea. Actually.”

John’s smile stretched to show all of his teeth. “I knew you’d get it! And if it doesn’t work, we’ll at least know we tried.”

“You know we won’t be able to just walk in as ourselves, though, right?”

“A-doy. We’ll be lawyers! I’ve got enough experience with ‘em to know what to say. You have a suit, right? I mean, I figured, since you do work in a world-renowned corporation…”

“I kind of just throw a blazer on top of most of my outfits,” she said slowly, “I’m not really a fan of the whole pencil-skirt-and-heels thing.”

John practically sprang up, phone in hand. “Nooo problem, I know just the gal to call…” He took a few steps away and held his free hand out, the monitor light glinting off the emerald setting in his engagement ring. “Sheesh, I better not get her voicema- Heya, Pumpkin! I’ve got a bit of a Bat-favor to ask…”

∞

It wasn’t so much the ride to The Redfur Theatre - Tiffany did enjoy weaving through traffic like it was nothing - but John’s reasoning for going in the first place. Apparently just meeting their one-woman costume department at her place wasn’t enough. Even though Tiffany could’ve sworn she’d heard the question ‘do you want me to meet you?’ on the other end of that call.

Nooo, John wanted options. And she wasn’t sure if she was annoyed about it because he had something of a point for the second time in a row (she certainly didn’t want to risk being recognized by anyone in BlackGate), or because this was just another diversion she had to deal with today. She was already a week behind schedule on the latest build project her engineering team had handed to them, and she got a notice about another pointless team meeting that she had to attend today. 

Tiffany parked the motorcycle in the back alley, waiting to shut off the engine until John had hopped off with his usual flamboyance, and had only turned the ignition key when the backstage door opened. 

“Jackieee!” John spread his arms wide not a moment before Jackie Lant practically slammed into him with a hug. “How’s my little slice of pumpkin pie? Look at you, going back to your roots!”

Jackie snorted into a short laugh at what Tiffany presumed was the bad joke about her hair color having returned to her natural fiery orange. “Don’t act surprised, J-man, you’ve seen my Snaps.”

“Like I’d ever miss out on a good pun,” John grinned. “Besides, you were a brunette when Robin saw you last!”

Jackie peeked around John to look at Tiffany, and her lightly-freckled face lit up with instant recognition. “Ah! Batman’s assistant!” she exclaimed with a smile, “I thought it was you in that suit… Back in the church, I mean.”

It kind of hit Tiffany that they never really met before. She saw her for the first time in the crypt-cum-abandoned-Owl-bunker as an antagonist who changed sides, and then briefly in the Court of Owl’s church basement as a well-armed ally. Everything she knew about Jackie Lant was learned vicariously through investigation notes and John.

And she had no idea what to say. It was kind of nice to see someone closer to her age in-the-know, but they were technically ‘working’. “Yeah, uh… You look good?” she settled on, hoping it didn’t sound weird.

“Thanks, things have been better since my student debt got mysteriously erased last Christmas. Kinda wish I’d known sooner than after the whole Owl fiasco, but…” she trailed into a shrug, still half-smiling. “I’m not complaining. Come on in, I’d like to get you two all dressed before everyone else decides to show up. I’m supposed to be finishing some of the background set pieces.”

“I thought you were an actress,” Tiffany pondered aloud, tailing alongside John.

“I am,” Jackie smirked over her shoulder, walking straighter. “You’re looking at this production’s Red Queen.” She showily fluffed a side of her curly orange French-style bob. “Mr. Tetch just loved my natural hair; like I knew he would. I just double as a set designer. And the occasional sound technician.”

“Small production,” Tiffany half-scoffed, hearing the exterior door squeal shut behind her.

“It’s a small theater. But it’s a good part and a director that gets you noticed. Otherwise I probably wouldn’t be renting a couch here. Well, except to see Matt cry in court.”

She assumed Jackie meant Matt ‘Clayface’ Chaney, aka her ex. Tiffany had seen part of the court proceedings for his murder charges as part of the Court of Owls back in July. He had, in fact, cried during his sentencing and proclaimed himself innocent despite everything to the contrary.

John grinned beside her. “Didn’t he also cry when you broke up with him after he was arrested?”

Jackie gave a dark sort of laugh. “Yeah, that was a good one… The press talked about that for days. He was totally messed up.”

“A thirty year life sentence will do that to you,” John said brightly, “And a couple of new scars,” he muttered with a wink over at Tiffany.

She wasn’t sure how to feel about that. Even though she could label him a friend, she knew very well what it was like to get a scar from John. And from what she remembered, Matt had gotten two. 

Even if he did kind of deserve it.

Jackie made a beeline for the long plastic costume rack in what was apparently her (and two other people’s) dressing room. It was a lot better looking than Tiffany had expected - the vanities were covered in makeup bottles and brushes and a professional looking case, but were otherwise clean, and old play posters and cast pictures were scattered around on the walls, the winking red fox face practically stamped in the corners. Only a few odd props were leaning against the walls and corners, all of which looked like they belonged to an Alice in Wonderland set. “We’ve got some stuff from a few indie shows still laying around… We should have something to fit that ‘lawyer’ vibe… Ah-ha!”

Tiffany had a dull yellow-brown tartan suit thrust in front of her. To say it was boring was a compliment. “Do you have…anything else?”

“Hang onto that and let me look.”

John, of course, was sifting through the adjacent rack like he was on speed. He already had two suits thrown over his arm.

“I think you can pull off khaki,” Jackie said, giving a suit a once-over and holding it up to Tiffany. 

John made a playful noise of disgust, which Tiffany partially ignored.

“I think these pants and that patterned jacket will work,” Jackie added, “Give you that ‘I’m the junior partner in this firm’ vibe. Like you want to be your own person, but you know you have to look professional.”

“Why am I the junior partner?” Tiffany asked, shooting John a look.

“Because I’m older than you?” John offered, an eyebrow raised to match hers, “And I know more about what we’re getting into.”

Jackie rolled her eyes a little at this. “Don’t act too smart, John. Most people can smell over-acting a mile away.”

John gave her back a little glare, but didn’t do any more than pout. “Be right back,” he grunted.

“Don’t jinx it,” Jackie called back, shaking out the tan slacks and returning the unused pieces to the rack in one sweep. “Old horror movie rule,” she said with a slight smile. “I’m superstitious when I'm in any theater.”

She wasn’t the biggest fan, but more than once she and Barbara had a late night double-feature with the so-called classics. She knew a few ‘rules’. “I always liked ‘don’t ask who’s there’, personally.”

“Hah, I was dumb enough to ask that in Arkham once. It’s how I lost my ponytail. And speaking of hair,” Jackie began to steer her by the shoulder to the vanity, “take a seat, and I’ll get a wig fit.”

Before she could object, Tiffany found herself sitting in the old metal folding chair with a wig held up by her face.

“No, too long…” Jackie muttered, picking up another from the plastic case, “Can I ask something?”

Do I really have a choice? “…sure.”

“Are you sure you’re ready to visit BlackGate?” she asked, holding up another wig. “I know you’ve helped put away your share of criminals, but I know John is used to that kind of atmosphere. He’s…one of them, if you know what I mean.”

She knew what she meant. ‘You can take the man out of Arkham, but you can’t take Arkham out of the man’, as Iman had once put it to her. And truthfully, no, she wasn’t ready, despite the fact that she was used to dealing with some of Gotham’s worst as Robin. But she imagined it hadn’t been easy for Bruce when he wound up in Arkham the first time. 

“Is anyone really ready for this?” she answered, “I’m not exactly doing it for fun.”

Jackie seemed to find that funny enough to give a little ‘hah’. “Well, you’ve got some brass, at least. What made you want to help Batman, anyway?” she asked, shaking out another wig, “I know I tried to kill someone and take their life’s work, but believe it or not, I really admire him. It’s why I didn’t put up a fight when he and ‘Joker’ found me last year. And I know why he helps him,” she added with a knowing little smile, “but I don’t know about you.”

Tiffany did not expect this today. She wasn’t sure how much she could tell her. Or if she should at all, with Jackie previously studying to be a psychologist. But she supposed that giving a simpler answer was better than none at all. “My…father worked for him. And when he died, I…wanted to find who killed him.”

Jackie draped the wig over Tiffany’s head, but she was paying close attention, her leaf-brown eyes brimming with empathy. Tiffany was reminded for a second of Bruce. His ability to multitask and scrutinize and understand. 

“After I did, I still felt…kind of empty,” she said as honestly as she could. “But after learning about my father’s connection to Batman, I wanted to… To keep going, in his place. He believed in all of this. Helping clean up the city and save people. Make a difference.” That sounded cheesy when she said it aloud. “And I get to glide around the city and punch people who deserve it.”

Jackie smiled at that, adding another bobby-pin to keep the short ponytail wig in place. “I hear that. I lost a lot of people to the city, myself… Car accidents, murders, drive-by shootings, disease caused by shitty housing. Close your eyes for me,” she instructed, holding up a brush primed with a dark brown cream. It felt weird going on; Tiffany felt she should be moving her hands instead. (When was the last time anyone else had done her makeup? Senior prom?)

“What amazed me,” Jackie continued, working quickly, “was how Batman managed to solve so many cases the cops would’ve let go unsolved. I’d like to think if he were around back then, my childhood friend’s killer would’ve been found a lot earlier.”

“I’m sorry,” Tiffany said genuinely, not knowing what else to say. She could hardly tell her she’d known about that.

“You have nothing to feel sorry for.” Jackie glanced at her with something like distaste as she picked up an eyebrow pencil. Tiffany wanted to kick herself; John’s notes in the case files had said she didn’t like to feel pitied. “Neither of us could’ve done anything. Like you, I just try to keep their memories alive the best I can. It’s one of the reasons I act; outside of getting to be anyone else for a while, I mean. I add pieces of them into every role I play. The way they talked, or moved, or pronounced certain words. Even the way they held things… But you definitely got the long end of the stick in how to keep ‘em going,” she joked, “Your dad must’ve been awesome.”

He hadn’t been perfect. He had missed more school events for work since Batman showed up, and there were times Tiffany had wanted to call Bruce herself to tell him to stop keeping him so late. And she’d learned too late that he was an expert secret-keeper as well as more selfless than she’d thought. But…

“He was,” Tiffany answered, thinking of the hologram message he’d left for her. He knew she’d want to know the truth behind everything, and that she’d want to continue Batman’s work. He knew that she would understand. “I’m guessing yours…wasn’t so much?”

“You got it in one.” Jackie began swiping a concealer stick over Tiffany’s face in clearly well-practiced strokes. “My parents tried to stamp out my inner theater-geek by pushing me to get a degree in ‘something useful’,” she snorted. “But I went along with it because I thought I could help kids who had been through what I had. I took fewer classes a semester so the loans wouldn’t be so outrageous, but my Dad skirted back on his promise to help pay for some of them after my third year anyway - because it was ‘my’ responsibility now, or some shit.” A highlighter stick swept down her cheeks. “And I powered through it so I could graduate and get a ‘good’ job. Which led to that Arkham internship I’m sure John’s told you about.”

Tiffany seemed to both know too much and too little about how that whole mess ended. But not exactly from John. Bruce’s notes on the whole affair from last October were rather thorough. “He, uh, keeps Arkham life pretty private.”

Jackie’s thick, light eyebrows rose as she primed a pink blending sponge. “Really? He’s a weird guy… Did he tell you about how he got engaged to Bruce Wayne?” she smiled, “He told me the whole thing in excruciating detail.”

“Are you kidding? He didn’t shut up about it for a week, and I keep catching him looking at his ring.”

“Yeah, that sounds right.” The blending sponge felt odd, but Jackie worked quickly. “He must not want to scare you with the grittier details of what went on in the ol’ asylum. Which I think is dumb, because from what he’s told me, you can really kick some ass. You don’t seem to scare easy.”

The knowledge that John talked about her - and positively, apparently - felt weird. Unexpectedly nice, yet kind of concerning. “I’d like to think so,” she said, not wanting to talk about the rat incident in the Batcave.

“Then you’ll do just fine.” Setting powder brushed over Tiffany’s cheeks. “Just remember, you’re not Robin in this get-up. You’re a young, upcoming lawyer who wants to prove herself; serious, but empathetic. It’s important,” she stressed, dotting her nose, “to try not to put too much of yourself in the role. Sometimes, you can find yourself lost in it. I’m a prime example.”

Before she could ask her to elaborate, Tiffany heard the click of John’s shoes before he entered the room. “Okay, lesson learned today,” he grumbled, face not quite covered in the peach-tone he used before, “I still need a little mirror to finish doing this or my brain nopes out.”

“I can finish you up,” Jackie waved, smoothing a fruity-smelling gloss over Tiffany’s lips. I could’ve done this part, Tiffany thought as she sat stock-still. “You just need mascara and you’ll be set.”

John was very pointedly not looking in the oversized mirrors, choosing to face the doorway. Then, like he suddenly remembered she was there, he cast a sheepish sort of look over at them. “Uh, I didn’t interrupt anything, did I?”

“Nah,” Jackie smiled, recapping the mascara and moving so Tiffany could finally go get change, “Just girl stuff.” Tiffany picked up the outfit she had been selected to wear and went out the way John came, not feeling like ‘Robin’ at all. Had she lost herself in her suit? Or, like Batman, had Robin been there all the time, visible only when she said or did things a certain way?

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Author Notes: One of the reasons I avoided doing this story for so long was because I wanted Tiffany and John to be able to work together without it feeling too awkward. In our Season 3 replacement story (AtBoM), John considers her a rival for Bruce's attention as well as bears a grudge for Bruce letting her go (and letting her work with him!) but force him back into Arkham, while Tiffany considers him too dangerous and "crazy" be trusted. Even though they eventually reached an understanding, in Season 4 (TToJ) Tiffany is still uneasy about him and John still makes a point to rub any attention he gets from Bruce in her face, which causes a huge rift in their budding friendship until they repair it at the end. Looking back at what my ideal-but-real-Season-3 would actually be (which would be a combo of all three of these stories), I could picture Tiffany and John's awkward attempts at getting along being charming on their own, and any scene of them saving the other from some harm a bit more impactful, but it would feel too rushed to get them to any trust-fall point. Not to mention Tiffany's own current arc concerning [redacted]. And in this final story, when shit hits the fan, I feel they should be able to trust each other more than they could've originally been written to in that alternate universe where Batman the TellTale Series: Season 3 actually exists to play. (;´༎ຶД༎ຶ`)

But enough about that! It's time for fun facts! In-between Seasons 3 and 4, I was thinking how nice it would be to have a short story with John and Bruce visiting the circus, wherein John gets along real well with the so-called "freaks" and they sort-of team up when some crime happens or something. I was reeeal fuzzy on the plot. All I knew was "oh man, it'd be great to see TellTale's version of Killer Croc…he could be part of a circus! Ooh, and we could add Babydoll, she never gets used - a TT-spin on her would be nice". It never went anywhere, of course, but while working on The Whole Nine Yards I decided to go ahead and work them into the plot for Season 5 because I love them. And because…ah, well, to avoid spoilers, let's just say it's because of reasons. (. ❛ ᴗ ❛.)

I also stuck a couple of easter eggs in this chapter! For one, did you know that same two executive producers are alllways listed on every Batman film since Burton's? Benjamin Melnicker and Michael Uslan! Michael is apparently a huge bat-fan himself, but I didn't learn about any of this until I was searching for a funny homage to other Bat-media to make in a throwaway name. The second egg is "The Redfur Theatre" - the name is taken from the real Fox Theatre and Redford Theatre in Detroit. As the logo is a fox, this is a bit of a stretched joke regarding Tiffany's surname.

Finally, my darling readers, real talk time:  this is the last time you get a weekly update. Please expect at least 2 weeks for the next one. But next time, we rejoin Bruce…and see some more of Joker's game.

#the perseverance project #fangs of ouroboros #telltale batman #batman the telltale series #batjokes #juce #telltale batjokes #john doe #tiffany fox #killer croc #mary dahl #Jackie Lant #cannibalism mention #canon typical violence #so many references so little time #yes that is an infinity symbol as a spacer this time around #👀 #trying to put the spacer in the damn middle but it keeps reverting in the drafts!!! >o<