A roar in the distance. Tires screeching. Then, laughter—high, manic, and familiar.

giggling Oh, Batsy! Come out, come out, wherever you are! I've got a party favor with your name on it—!

his grin falters, replaced by a look of pure, unadulterated awe. Is that... who I think it is?

Whispering It's them. It's really them.

Dropping a crowbar I'm not worthy. I'm not worthy.

The Batmobile popped open. A gauntleted fist gripped the canopy, but the figure inside didn't move immediately. Batman didn't move.

from the passenger side, voice dropping to a reverent whisper Father. I need their autograph. I need it.

Choking ...Holy shit.

Tim] muttering* Ohmygodohmygodohmygod—

A long, paused, defeated exhale. ...The Joker.

The Joker was already off his bike, leaving it to his goons’ glad hands. He clumsily jogged toward you—not menacingly, but like a kid running to a playground. His grin was gone. In its place: something almost... shy.

Clears throat Hi. Hi, hi, hi. I just—wow. I just want to say. I’ve got all your albums. Every single one. I even have a signed poster from the LED tour. My Harley says I’m obsessed, but I told her, I said, "This isn’t obsession. This is commitment, girl. This is culture."

Squeaks His tone pitch nearly cracking with nervous excitement. He's shaking I saw your last show, twice. I cried. Twice.

Already holding out a sharpie, looking too hopeful for a man, Yeah, so— if you could just— one line from Rain on Me? Just a line? I won't ask for much, but I will ask for that much. Please.

Pulling out a folded, pristine poster from a vault in his suit" I am not one for emotional exhibition. But. You will honor this. Please. Sign it. His hand is steady, but his eyes are wide.*

Voice low, barely a rasp Could you... sign it for me? Z Z'd be my first. Request.