"...I know my listeners have been looking forward to this show for a long time, and, frankly, I have too. I'd like to welcome Dr. Cynthia Puddleton to our studio tonight. Dr. Puddleton is a well-respected professor of Sociology, and she's made a particular study of the sociology of Gotham's so-called 'super-heroes'. Welcome to Gotham Tonite, Dr. Puddleton.""Pleased to be here, Trish. I hope your listeners are interested in the psyches of the 'Misguided Masks', as I like to call them."
"So can I take it from that term that you think these costumes are used to hide something?"
"That's definitely the case for most Masks. In fact, these costumes are designed to conceal the rage and hurt that most of these people carry around. Many of them came from broken homes or had otherwise unusual and damaging childhoods. What I find most ironic is that the very costumes that they choose to hide themselves in are what tell us the most revealing secrets."
"How so, Dr. Puddleton?"
"Well, let's start with one of the lesser-known, newer Masks — Draco. Apart from the fact that he seems to haunt one of the seedier sections of Gotham known as "The Corner", Draco's costume is extremely telling. He wears an outfit almost identical to that most notorious of Gotham's Masks, the Batman, except that it's green."
"I've heard about that. What exactly does that say about Draco, apart from a lack of originality?"
"Trish, it shows that this man is desperate to be taken seriously. The fact that he's deliberately chosen to model his costume on Batman's indicates a 'need to succeed' by riding on a more famous Mask's coattails. Even if he does turn out to be a mediocre 'crime fighter', as most of these vigilantes style themselves to be, he can still use the ingrained fear that ordinary people feel for the Batman to his advantage. I think it's quite obvious that this Draco is a 'wannabe', somebody desperately seeking attention and approval."
"Do you think that Batman has endorsed this Draco's image? After all, he's had ample time to put this imposter out of business." "The Batman is one of the most straightforward Masks I've studied, Trish. It's likely that he simply doesn't care enough to stop Draco. After all, what does he have to lose? If Draco succeeds, then the costume similarity would only help the Batman's reputation. If he fails, then either he'll simply quit, or criminals will begin to underestimate the costume, leaving the real Batman to disabuse them of that notion. I don't think the Batman cares about Draco one way or another. In fact, they probably don't even know each other."
. .. ... .. . "It looks pretty good."
"It looks like crap."
Jason Todd surveyed himself in the full-length mirror with something akin to nausea, and underneath that, a growing sense of panic. Was this really how how looked to the Corner's criminal element? A third-rate Batman?
And he was only third-rate, Dick had pointed out just the slightest bit wryly, because Nightwing already filled the position of 'second-rate.'
Getting up off the bed he was sitting on, Dick came over to stand next to Jason, surveying the reflection critically. "You're right — it's crap," he finally admitted, earning a blistering one-eyed glare from the owner/designer of the now-tattered green costume.
Actually, it wasn't the design that was so bad. It was the materials and the production. In between working at the auto shop and fighting crime, there wasn't much time to devote to tailoring. Which, normally, wouldn't have made an impact in Jason's life at all — but this was a special case.
He hadn't invested much time into calculating out the functionality of the costume, but he'd thought that the simple, utilitarian body armour would pretty much be enough. It wasn't until he was actually out there, facing people down, tailing criminals and hiding in the shadows, that he'd realized that the way a costume looked was almost as important as how it worked.
"So...what exactly do you want to look like?" Dick asked. Pushing down a wave of irritation — did he have to wear that oh-so-doubtful expression? — Jason considered the question. He took a look at it face-front, didn't like what he saw, and decided to sneak up on it from behind. That was even worse, so he gave a few sideways-angled perusals a go. No joy there either.
Any goddamn way you looked at it, there was only one option for his costume. One he hated to think about too much, because then the Issues started surfacing. Jesus H. Christ and his goddamn bloody pogo stick.
"I want body armour. And —" Jason stopped himself there and looked at Dick hopefully, "— and that's about it."
Pursing his mouth, Dick thought about it for a moment. "So...kind of like mine, then," he mused.
"Yeah."
"Nope," Dick shook his dark head decisively. "Won't work for you, Jays. You're not...well, let's face it, you're not as coordinated as I am. I can afford to have a less-than-concealing costume. You're gonna need something to help the bullets get lost in."
Jason didn't say anything. It was true, after all; just one of those little ways that Dick constantly, unconsciously reaffirmed — just by being his usual smart, likeable, unbelievably handsome self — that he'd been the first and best Robin, the true protege of the Bat.
Allowing himself a small, tight smile (a mirror image of Bruce's, he would've been shocked to know), Jason rather uncharitably took comfort in the fact that at least he wasn't alone in the 'Spare Robin' department. Spare Robin #2, otherwise known as Tim Drake, was...well, actually, he was pretty perfect himself, what with that unrufflable temper and invaluable computer genius.
Dammit.
He turned his attention back to Dick, whose face was carefully neutral as he suggested, "Cape?"
Fate was against him. Jason nodded glumly and Dick patted him on the back. "Don't worry," he said, his voice consoling. "We'll make sure it doesn't look like his."
Jason tried and didn't quite succeed in keeping the plaintive tone from his voice. "How?"
"Well, you seem to like green, and Donna claims that color makes a huge difference...."
. .. ... .. . "So who's the next costumed hero to come under your dissection, Dr. Puddleton?"
"Trish, I thought I'd move on to Bludhaven's resident Mask, who calls himself "Nightwing".
"Wasn't he one of the Teen Titans as well?" "Indeed. And back when Nightwing first appeared, he wore a fairly ridiculous high-collared, Elvis-style costume, if you'll pardon the pop culture reference."
"Iiiiiiiiiiii remember that! Does that indicate that Nightwing has an uncontrollable urge for dark glasses and deep-fried peanut butter and banana sandwiches?"
(Polite laughter)
"Although that may be the case, what the open-chested costume really said was that here was a young man who was more concerned with the physical impression he made rather than the emotional one. He wanted the first reaction to be to his overt sexuality as opposed to any actual crimefighting ability. In my opinion, this reveals that he was unsure as to how effective he would be as a Mask; the flashy costume would, he hoped, make up for any imperfections in his 'work', as it were."
"But he changed it after a while."
"Yes. It's not hard to imagine, Trish, that 'villains' didn't take Nightwing too seriously in a getup like that. And that probably bruised an already fragile ego, which is why he modified it into a more covering bodysuit, with broad yellow bands running across the chest and shoulders. Those bands indicate a need to be seen as masculine, in the way they draw attention to the shoulders, making them appear broader, stronger."
"And now he's got a third costume...jeez, this guy makes more costume changes than Elton John!...and what does this latest one say?"
"It's much like its predecessor, Trish, only cleaner, more stylized. He's replaced the yellow shoulder-band with a blue one, but kept yellow toe-caps. By all accounts, Nightwing is quite the acrobat, and perhaps the fact that he calls attention to his footwork shows that he's a little bit vain."
"He's gotten rid of the long hair, I've noticed."
"Nightwing's evolution seems to have been a struggle between being 'cool' and being 'impressive'. The long hair and fancy costumes may fit the former goal, but the simpler body armour and short hair are more practical. But I'd like to draw your attention, Trish, to the shoulder-band. In each incarnation, it's been the same; broadening the shoulders, and pointing downward to Nightwing's discreetly evident genital region."
"Dr. Puddleton, you have a dirty mind. We like that here on Gotham Tonite."
. .. ... .. . That had been three years ago. Three long years of cleaning out the Corner and training the local scum to gasp, "Draco!!" instead of "Bat--uh...Green Batman?"
Even the nickname the criminals had for Draco — "That Green Bastard" — was preferrable. Hell, in typical Jason fashion, he even kind of liked it.
"Maybe I should take the ears off the cowl," Jays murmured, watching Garth's clever, long fingers patch over the seamed headgear. He'd put off doing repairs and maintenance for a long time, mostly, I think, because he instinctively balks at the idea of prettying up something that's scarred. But then Garth had suddenly expressed an interest in refurbishing the Draco costume, and I thought it was only best to heartily encourage this notion.
"You're starting to look run-down," I'd said. "You don't want to give the wrong impression."
"If that impression's that I'm too broke to go out and buy polymer goop to fix my armour, then it's the right one."
But we won out in the end, and Jason had grudgingly handed over his Draco-outfit to be cleaned and mended. When the two of us — Garth and me — get together and nag someone into doing something, we're well-nigh impossible to resist. Especially when we're armed with Alfred's chocolate chip cookies and Garth's best sad-guppy look.
"Why take the ears off?" Garth asked, addressing Jays' comment and breaking into my sidetracked musings. "I think they look good."
"Yeah, they make the cowl more interesting," I agreed, handing Jason the cookie plate. "Kind of like the little wings on Wally's. Otherwise, it's just a colored skullcap, isn't it?"
"I guess." That bit of morose Jason-speak, I've learned, translates roughly into "Jeez, you're right! Woweeeee! Thanks for helping me decide, guys!" Sometimes I wonder if he didn't pick up more of Bruce's moodswings and mannerisms in his short tenure as Robin than I did.
"Or maybe you should abandon the cowl altogether and get a domino mask," I suggested. I prefer the masks, myself; the few times I've worn the Bat-cowl, I felt restricted and almost claustrophobic, despite the perfectly functional design.
But Jason was looking at me almost suspiciously, and I realized with an internal sigh what was eating him. "We can design it to cover up the scars, Jays," I added, trying to keep the frustration I was feeling out of my voice.
Jays scowled. Or, rather, he deepened his scowl. "Yeah, you only say that 'cause you grew up wearing one of those things." "He wears it to bed sometimes," Garth said conversationally, causing Jason to groan loudly and cover his head.
"I just forget to take it off when I'm really tired," I defended myself as Jason tried to bury himself in the chair. Garth's got a more wicked sense of humor than anyone suspects. He knows that talking about our relationship kind of skeeves Jays, so he does it every now and again. Nothing graphic — Garth's not that uninhibited — but little, intimate things that we share. The kind of things all lovers share.
"Besides," I pointed out, "I grew up in short pants, too, and you don't see me running around in those."
"Thank fucking God!" Jason hollered, tossing a cushion at me. But he cracked a grin.
. .. ... .. . "For my final analysis, Trish, I'd like to focus on another of the Teen Titans, one who has recently gone through a costume rehaul."
"Seems like that could be any of them, Dr. Puddleton. Ha HA!"
"It could. But I've been studying the Mask known as Tempest."
"But wait a second--Tempest doesn't wear a mask!"
"Precisely."
"..."
"Tempest was formerly known as Aqualad, a resident of Atlantis, and as such, he didn't need to conceal his 'mundane' identity, as it were. But his costume is just as telling when it comes to the Mask wearing it."
"How do you figure? Wouldn't it all be out to see, considering he doesn't have a secret identity?"
"By all accounts, Tempest's actions have always been fairly controlled, not irrational and violent. However, if you look at the bright, aggressive red of his costume, you can sense the roiling anger lurking beneath the surface. Not only is the choice of red very revealing, but the black slashes that mark the costume show a rage that is tearing at him internally, waiting to come out. Trish, I think that of all the Masks currently in service, Tempest is one of the most dangerous. There are strong, deadly currents within him that can pull us down at any moment."
"So you think he's a threat disguised as a hero?"
"That's exactly it. Why else choose such a powerfully aggressive costume?"
. .. ... .. . Dick and Jason spilled into the apartment in a burst of warmth and noise that Garth had been able to sense approaching for the last few minutes. That was just the way that the two ex-Robins were. Next to the two of them, sometimes, he seemed almost ghostly; quiet, unprepossessing, gentle Garth who spoke softly and rarely lost his temper. He didn't mind. It was pleasant to be the centered, calm one when the three of them were together, and Garth enjoyed Robbie's and Jays' boisterousness without being a part of it.
"It's fucking freezing out there!" Jason announced loudly, dropping his grocery bags right at the door and blowing vigorously on his fingers.
"That's generally what happens in the winter, Jays." Dick rolled his eyes and grinned at Garth, pausing to tangle his fingers into the handles of Jason's discarded bags and lug them along with his own to the kitchen.
Jason plopped down in the chair he usually claimed, sitting on his hands to warm them and staring at the television. "Whatcha watching?"
"A program about undersea life," Garth replied.
"Uhhhh...why? You lived underwater. You talk to fish —"
"Not anymore," Dick reminded him from the kitchen. Even with his head stuck in a cupboard, putting away tins of soup, he still had extraordinarily sharp hearing. And, Jason could tell, Dick was also hinting that this was not a subject to pursue.
"It's all right, Robbie," Garth said soothingly. He smiled at Jays, the friendliness in his violet eyes reassuring the young man that no offense was taken. "I like watching these programs because it's amusing to see the explanations that the marine biologists give for the sea creatures' behavior," he told him.
"Oh, okay." Jays nodded. "Like watching bad movies just to point out the plot holes. Gotcha."
"You should see how riled up he gets sometimes," Dick said fondly, coming into the living room and sitting down next to Garth on the sofa. He modulated his voice to sound like his lover's, quiet and low like the sea at night. "'No, you ignorant morons! The octopus isn't turning red because it's scared, it's just eaten too much shrimp and wants to vomit!'" Dick shook his fist at the screen, his face perfectly calm, blinking slowly and almost sleepily, the way Garth did.
"Is that why your costume's red, Garth?" Jays asked, laughing. "You're trying to tell everybody that you're constantly about to throw up?"
"Noooo," Garth smiled. "Nobody attacks something that's red. It scares away most would-be predators. And I think of it as sort of a polite suggestion that they shouldn't bother me."
"A polite warning, more like. The black stripes are for...what are they for, hon?" "Camouflage?" Jays suggested doubtfully.
Garth shook his head. "If I had a blue suit like Arthur's old one, maybe. But with red...I suppose they're to look good, mostly."
Dick scrunched up his face and poked Garth in the ribs, telling Jason confidentially in a stage-whisper, "He's very vain about the way he looks."
"I'm striped already," Garth said mildly, fingering the tattoos that had once been scars which ran across his eye. Jason stared at him, then grinned and thumbed the line of scar tissue that creased his own forehead.
"To look good?" he asked. There was only the faintest tinge of bitterness in his voice. He was either getting better at hiding it, or the pain of the scars was really starting to recede into the annals of history and memory.
Dick tilted his head back and regarded them both consideringly, squinting his blue eyes. "Definitely," he decided. "I like people with scars. They have the more interesting stories to tell." He flashed a bright smile at Garth and Jason, who instantly felt warmth well up inside them, a pleasurable flush that spread right to their toes and fingertips.
Dick was very good at making people feel that way.
. .. ... .. . "Sadly, that's all the time we have with Dr. Puddleton, the recognized authority on costumed superheroes. But I'm sure that what you've told us has made a huge impression on our listeners, Doctor."
"I hope so, Trish. It seems that we are increasingly at the mercy of these Masks when it comes to personal safety, and, very often, in matters of global safety as well. Their hidden identities rob us of some power to control the effect the Masks have, but by judicious analytical study of their costumes, we can perhaps regain that power. By revealing their psyches, we reveal the 'mundanes' behind the Masks."
"Exactly. So remember, Gothamites — next time you run into Batman swinging down some dark alley, you can look him right in the pointy-horned face and tell him that his form-fitting body armor can't hide his innate lack of self-confidence and poor body-image! 'Till tomorrow midnight, this is Gotham Tonite."
