† The Brat Queen †

DISCLAIMER: The following stories are all non-profit, amateur efforts not intended to infringe on the rights of Tom Cruise, Brad Pitt, David Geffen, Warner Brothers, Geffen Pictures, Knopf, Randomhouse, the city of New Orleans, the U.S. Consititution, any copyright holders that I might not have thought of or even a certain author who shall remain nameless but who has a set of initials which are, coincidentally enough, just one letter off from spelling "B.S."

Lestat and Robin
by: The Brat Queen

DISCLAIMER: The following is an extremely amateur effort not intended to infringe on the rights of Anne Rice, Knopf, Random House, Bill Clinton, the Spice Girls, Marv Albert or the entire population of Nagano, Japan. It is intended to infringe on the rights of those of you reading it. So there.

The characters and situations in this story are entirely made up, except for the stuff I took from real life. Any resemblance to those living, undead or otherwise metaphysically challenged was sheer luck and just further proof of what a crazy mixed-up world we live in.

DEDICATED TO: Eartha Kitt

RECOMMENDED MUSIC TO LISTEN TO: The Name Game

In the city known as New Orleans there is a man. A strong man. A powerful man. A man with a secret. A man who is not like other men in many, many ways. It is billionaire playboy Lestat de Lioncourt, known to a select few as Pookie. And known to an even more select few as Batman.

Haunted by visions of his parent's death, Lestat nightly dons a cape and cowl in order to protect the innocent and defend the helpless no matter how small.

"So now you're making fun of my height?"

Lestat turned from his customary spot by the window, where he could be found brooding intensely whenever he thought of his awesome responsibility. Or, more frequently, when South Park was a repeat.

"Armand," he sighed, "the narratives do not *always* have to be about you."

"Yes," Armand snapped, "I've been meaning to speak to you about that."

"We've been through this before," Lestat said with well-worn patience, "you, as my side-kick --"

"Ha!"

"-- do not get a main storyline. You are referred to as 'earnest,' impetuous,' and 'The Boy Wonder --'"

"I've warned you about calling me that, Lestat."

"-- and you spend your time saying funny things or trying to get to first base with a girl. Besides, this storyline needed a Robin, and you were the only available person for the part."

"I'm supposed to be the commissioner's son! I should be --"

"Batgirl?"

Armand glared at him. "*Not* Robin. Having me as Robin makes no sense."

"No, Alicia Silverstone makes no sense. *You,* on the other hand, look good in green."

"Completely irrelevant. So does Louis and he gets to wear the skintight vin -- Lestat, *would* you pay attention?"

Lestat shook himself off, "Stop distracting me!"

"Oh Lord," Armand muttered, running his fingers through his hair, "I can tell where this story is going already. Let's just make the required number of obligatory BDSM and fetish jokes right now and spare me. Or, better yet, just kill me right now."

"It's been done before," Lestat said, waving it off, "poor ratings and totally cliched besides. Besides, I wouldn't stoop to cheap Memnoch jokes, even in a silly spec."

"Alright, fine. But don't call me 'chum'!"

Lestat had the dignity to shudder. "I think not."

A voice from the doorway interrupted them. "Sir?"

Lestat sighed as he recognized the speaker. "David, is my Batcave done yet?"

David cleared his throat. "Well... no, but --"

"David," Lestat said, speaking very slowly, "what have I said about getting my Batcave done?"

"That it's very important."

"And?"

"That I shouldn't do anything else until it's done."

"Like...?"

David rubbed the back of his neck, tiredly, "Reading, watching TV, eating, sleeping..."

"*And*?"

"Interrupting the master of the house in his very, very important work."

"I believe I've made my point," Lestat said, turning back to the window.

"You're such a bitch," Armand said, half in appreciation.

"But, Lestat!"

"Mouth is open, David, should be shut," Lestat said, "and why aren't you downstairs digging?"

David drew himself to his full height, annoying both Lestat and Armand in the process. "Lestat, I thought you would care to know that your 'very, very important work' is being asked for right now.'

"What? Doesn't everyone know this is my vacation?" Lestat shook his head. "No, forget it. I'm taking the time off and I don't care who wants it."

"I'll do it," Armand said.

"Like Hell you will"

"Why not?"

"Because," Lestat said, "the last thing I need is to be trapped in some stereotypical plotline about my trusty sidekick going off when he was told not to only to end up needing me to rescue him. I told you when we started this, Armand. No moronic stereotypes!"

"Like brooding anti-heros?"

Lestat gave him a look. "Or dead side-kicks."

Armand ran a hand through his hair impatiently. "Alright, fine. If I can't go against your wishes then just tell me I can do it and everything will be OK."

Lestat's mouth opened and closed a few times as he thought about it. "You know what," he said finally, "you're absolutely right. Go ahead then. You have my blessing."

"Excellent!" Armand turned to David, his attitude that of a pure professional. "Alright, what's going on?"

David looked at Armand for a moment before turning back to Lestat. "But sir --"

"Talk to the redhead," Lestat said, waving him off.

David sighed deeply, turning back to Armand. "There's a criminal trio in town."

"The tragic trio?" Armand asked, quickly scribbling notes into his palmtop.

"No, brand new. No one's sure where they came from but they've been running around town and setting fire to the city."

"Town, running, fire," Armand muttered as he typed. "Anything else?"

"Commissioner Marius," David gave Armand a jealous glare, "says they might be trying to start a gang war."

"All this seems very plain," Lestat said from his corner of the room. "Why bother us with it in the first place? Why can't the police take care of it?"

"The police?" David asked. "You mean that squadron of hundreds who still need to call a borderline psychopath in a cape to get anything done? Those police?"

Lestat nodded thoughtfully. "Good point."

"And there's more."

"What?" Armand paused in mid-keystroke, wondering how the narrative had gotten away from him again.

"They seem to have a personal vendetta against you."

"*Me*?"

"No," David said, rolling his eyes. "Not you, Armand. Lestat."

"Although there are plenty of good reasons to have vendettas against you, Armand," Lestat pointed out helpfully.

"Yes, yes, yes," Armand said, trying to dismiss him.

"That incident in Miami for starters."

"Yes, I know --"

"And that thing last week."

"Yes, I --"

"Come to think of it you still haven't finished fixing my car..."

"I *know*, Lestat," Armand said, practically throwing his computer onto the floor as he did. "But do you think we could possibly get back to the point?"

"There was one?"

"*If* I may," David said as he rubbed his temples. "The point is that this trio seems to have a vendetta against you, Lestat, as evidenced by the threats they're making. Or, rather, the threats they're making against Batman."

Lestat drew himself up, his eyes becoming steely. "What kind of threats?"

"I thought this was my plotline," Armand protested.

"I'll let you tag along. What kind of threats?"

"They're threatening," David said with no small amount of satisfaction for having been given the spotlight, "to reveal your secret identity."

Lestat blinked. "Which one?"

"*The* one."

Lestat looked pale. "Not...?"

"Actually, no," David said, relenting. "Truth be told I'm not sure which one it is. But the threat certainly sounds good."

"But.. my God!" Lestat began pacing. "Just think of the possibility!"

"Yeah," Armand said, "The whole world could find out you're not just a member of the Tom Cruise fanclub."

"I'm hearing that you never want to be able to drive the Batmobile, Armand, is that it?"

"*I'm* hearing that you don't ever want it fixed again."

"Can we get back to the matter at hand?" David asked, stepping in between them. "Should either of you care, the trio is holed up in an abandoned factory downtown and they're threatening to do God alone knows what until you get down there."

"Right," Lestat said, striding impressively towards the door. "Armand, to the Batcave!"

"You mean the guest room?"

"Oh for Heaven's sake, just come!"

The situation downtown was tense, but Police Commissioner Marius kept his focus.

"So you're saying I should try cutting my hair shorter?" he asked the deputy next to him.

"Oh yes, sir. It would bring out your cheekbones. Perhaps that Roman look that George Clooney likes?"

Marius grimaced. "Perhaps not."

"Well, I'm glad to see that we're not interrupting anything important," Lestat said, stepping forward, clad now in his infamous Batsuit.

"We had to do something to pass the time," Marius said. "You certainly didn't rush getting over here."

"*Someone*," Lestat said, turning to glare at Armand, "couldn't get ready."

Armand paused as he fiddled with his hair. "I didn't start this. 'Look good while doing good' is*your* motto."

"You could still go faster."

"I'm *moussing*!" Armand said, adding the last layer of volume to his bangs. "It's not easy to look even halfway normal in this... this... target costume."

Lestat turned his attention back to the Commissioner. "Plus the car wouldn't start."

"I'm telling you those parts are *completely* unnecessary."

"Robin, shut up."

"I've warned you about calling me that in public."

"Aren't you supposed to be my son?" Marius asked, finally realizing who was in the orange and green costume.

"Don't ask," Armand sighed.

"Is this plot going to go anywhere anytime soon?" a voice purred as a figure in a slinky black catsuit appeared.

"Baby," Lestat whispered, reaching over to pull Catman - otherwise known as Louis de Pointe du Lac, Lestat's not-so-secret lover. "You got that thing altered!"

"Maybe," Louis said coyly, running his claws down Lestat's chin. "Like it?"

"I assure you that's not a Batarang in my pocket."

"Oh God," Armand muttered. "I'm going to be sick."

"DUCK!" Commissioner Marius cried, hitting the ground just seconds before the rest of the crowd and a mere moment before a ball of flame flew past their heads.

"EXCUSE ME!" a shrill female voice called out. "HELLO? VILLANS HERE! DOING DASTARDLY DEEDS! PAY ATTENTION PLEASE!"

"Would you stop that?" Lestat shouted back, dusting himself off as he stood, offering Louis a hand as he did. "That is *very* loud and horrendously annoying."

The woman cleared her throat and continued speaking from the top of the abandoned factory, two male figures appearing beside her. "Well *excuse* me," she said. "But you were all so busy having that little love fest that you were ignoring *us*."

"You know," one of the men beside her said, "I told you it would be dull in this story. They never pay attention to the villans in these things. We're an afterthought at best."

"Be quiet, Constellation Boy."

"Constellation Boy?" Armand snorted. "What are you going to do? Tell my horoscope to death? No, wait - affect the tides to ruin my Fourth of July weekend!"

"Hey!" Constellation Boy replied. "Death by drowning can be *very* unpleasant! I should know."

"I'm not going to ask," Louis muttered, then raised his voice to speak to the trio, addressing the female in particular. "I don't see why we should pay attention to you. Overall you seem very rude and dull."

"You should pay attention to me," the woman said, hefting her flame-thrower, "because I can set this town on fire and claim it as my own! Me, Poison Oak! Sole ruler of New Orleans!!"

"Poison *Oak*?" Lestat asked. "Don't you mean Ivy?"

"Look, the name was already *taken*, OK?" she snapped. "Not everybody can afford to violate copyrights like you can. Plus, two Poison Ivys running around would just be confusing."

"So," Louis said, "Poison Oak and Constellation Boy. Who's the third?"

Another figure stepped forth, blinding them all with his suit of neon green. "I am... the Quizmaster!"

"The Quizmaster?" Commissioner Marius frowned. "Didn't you get 25 to life at Arkham last year?"

"Yes," the Quizmaster smiled. "But does that really mean that I had to stay? Did you really want to keep me from coming and going as I please?"

"Those kickbacks from the locksmith's union coming back to haunt you, huh?" Lestat asked the Commissioner.

"Seemed like such a good idea at the time," Marius sighed. "Locks are always the most expensive part of any prison, you see, and --"

"Did it really mean," the Quizmaster kept on, interrupting them now with his volume, "that I was bad? Are we to assume that I am not as good as the rest of society? Who among us can judge another? Who can say that I was wrong and society was right?"

"I can," Constellation Boy piped up. "God you're annoying."

"Am I *really*?"

"My head hurts," Lestat said, rubbing his forehead. "OK, OK. So we're paying attention to you now. What do you want?"

"The city!" Poison Oak said, sending off a dramatic burst of flame. "The city under our command!"

"To do what?"

"Pretty much this," Constellation Boy admitted.

"This?"

"Setting fires, starting gang wars, generally causing a ruckus," Constellation Boy shrugged. "You know, the usual. Only without getting in trouble for it."

"Oh I don't think so," Louis said, pulling out his whip. "Stand aside, someone needs filleting."

"No!" Armand cried, leaping to the forefront. "I'll handle this. For someone must protect our city. Someone must keep the streets safe for families to go to the park with their children, for little old ladies to walk alone at night, and for men to frequent pornographic theaters in secret without their wives finding out. And that someone... is me."

Louis raised his eyebrows. "'Men to frequent pornographic theaters'?"

"I was on a roll. It just came out."

"Apparently."

"What," Lestat said, taking control of the conversation again, "will you do if we *don't* give you the city?"

"Then," Constellation Boy said, almost but not quite sneering, "we shall do the unthinkable. We will reveal your identity, Batman!"

"You wouldn't dare!" Louis snarled, held back only by Lestat's hand.

"Just a second, beautiful," Lestat said. "I think they're bluffing."

"Bluffing!" Poison Oak scoffed. "They think we're bluffing!"

"How would they know?" the Quizmaster asked. "How could they tell? Is it even possible that they would know if we were bluffing?"

"Shut up!" the crowd cried, more or less in unison.

"Bluff-ing," Lestat said, folding his arms and looking at them smugly.

"Am not!" Poison Oak said, stamping her foot.

"Prove it."

"Oh yeah?" Constellation Boy said. "Then try this on: Batman is... Bruce Wayne!"

There was a slight pause.

"Oh *please*," Armand said.

"That is *so* 1960s of you," Louis added, rolling up his whip again and folding it away.

"Take them away boys," Commissioner Marius said, gesturing towards the criminals.

"But... but.. he is!" Poison Oak protested. "We've got signed confessions and everything!"

"Of *course* you do," Marius said, patting her on the shoulder. "And you can enjoy rereading them up at Arkham."

"Try adding locks this time," Lestat said, making a face as the Quizmaster went by. "I'd rather not go through this again."

"Care for dinner, darling?" Louis said, hooking his arm through Lestat's.

"Love to. The outfit really compliments your legs, you know."

"Wait a minute," Armand said, stepping in front of them. "That's it? They're arrested? No fights? No dramatic shots of me beating the flame out of Poison Oak?"

"I told you, Armand," Lestat said. "Side-kicks don't get their own plotlines."

"Besides," Louis said, "not all stories have to be violent." He gave Lestat a significant look. "Sometimes I like keeping the whip for those I love."

"Darling!" Lestat smiled, pulling him in for a kiss.

"That's it," Armand said, shaking his head. "I'm going to Marvel."

AND SO NEW ORLEANS WAS SAFE AGAIN....

BUT FOR HOW LONG???

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