Jonathan Crane - Scarecrow
"and at the end of fear...Oblivion"
Player: Jon ~
Registered On: Feb 15, 2012 20:39:14 GMT -5 ~
Posts: 941
~ Relationship Status: Won't Say I'm In Love
~ Partner: Fear
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Post by Jonathan Crane - Scarecrow on Feb 28, 2012 23:42:44 GMT -5
Having studied Nigma's expressions he could tell that he was quite upset about the question. A stimulant to get a result and it worked. Dr. Cranes expression never changed as he watched his captive snap back at him. He had hit a nerve that was painfully obvious in Nigma. Although it was what he expected it wasn't the emotion he wanted. So far he had been unable to get fear into the mans eyes. But it would come..
Dr. Crane listened to him carefully, he watched him lay his head back and wondered where he thought he was going with this. It was only then he saw a movement come from his bound feet. Smoke filled the room instantly, the room was small and it was very effective in such a small space. Dr. Crane lifted his arm and put it to his mouth covering what he could. His sight wasn't going to be useful in a room that nothing could be seen anymore. His senses would have to come into play.
He listened again to Nigma speak from within the smoke about his toys. The sound of the trinket sliding across from where Nigma raised consern only for a moment in the doctor. When it bumped off of his feet he couldn't help but smile, even if it couldn't be seen. Is this really what Nigma thought of him? They may be explosives, indeed. But he should have known better than to take him for a common criminal to cower at the sight or sound of an explosive. If Nigma wasn't afraid to kick it, neither was he.
“You have forgotten something Nigma” He said softly through the curl of his arm kicking the tricket from his feet. Now that it was out of the way there was only one thing he was after. The movement from the table caused Crane to move forward into the smoke only a step. It was clear what Nigma was trying to do. He really would have preferred real lab tables, in a real lab, but such was the life of a Professional Criminal. There was only one object that was on that table that he cared about. Reaching through the smoke he managed to grab it as the table collapsed to one side. He was unable to save his syringes, his bottles, or his glasses.
Plans do change, something that he was quite use to by now. The sound of everything breaking to the floor, his original plans with Nigma gone, it was time for the nightmare to start. The object in his hands he quickly flipped the switch inside and pulled it over his head. The Scarecrow had only began to haunt Nigma now. He still couldn't see but at least he could breath better. “The rat attempting to flee from it's cage” He taunted Nigma through the distortion of his voice.
There was one thing that his clever captive had not taken into account, or at least felt it was worth risking. Syringes were not the only way he could get Nigma to fear him, and now he had given him the perfect opportunity to use it. The only thing he would regret was that he wouldn't be able to see the fear on his victims eyes until after he had opened the door to let the smoke clear. For now though the door would remain closed. He didn't need it to find Nigma, it wasn't difficult to figure out he was still at the bottom of the table.
There was only one thing that the doctor didn't understand, but he was going to find out. Why would Nigma do all this if he knew he would still be bound now left to the mercy of the Scarecrow under the shambles of a broken table? Only if he had the means to escape his binds. The Scarecrow laughed through the distortion of the mask. His hands went to his right jacket pocket and pulled out a small bag. His first and most classical form of his infamous fear toxin.
Not wanting to give Nigma any more time to do whatever he had planned to do in the smoke. The Scarecrow held onto the bottom of the small pouch and forced it in the direction that he knew Nigma was. The powder would fill the air in the room now.
He tossed the bag to the side and now stepped back and tried to move around him. The Scarecrow was slowly making his way to place himself in front of the door. Keeping aware that Nigma may free himself at any moment through whatever means he believed he had. Now that he had so graciously set the mood for both of them. It was time to do what he did best, invoke fear as he waited for the toxin to take effect.
“What if everything around you, isn't quite as it seems? What if all the world you think you know, is an elaborate dream?” The distortion from the mask spoke, the arbiter of fear still felt he was in control. Even if Nigma were to escape by some miraculous means the impression that would be left from tonight would be glorious.
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Post by Deleted on Feb 29, 2012 1:01:47 GMT -5
Edward’s fingers on his good hand started to work the pen up and down, so the knife connected with the rope. He sawed at it slowly enough to make sure it cut, but fast enough that he could still hopefully escape before Jonathan made his next news. When he heard the question mark slide across the floor, he knew he had little time. He hurried faster with the rope. He couldn’t see it clearly through the smoke, but he could judge the how lose it was becoming based on how easier it was to move his wrist. If he cut just a bit more he could pull his good hand out of the rope, but his thoughts were interrupted by a distorted voice.
He had multiple thoughts at that moment. The first was along the lines of, Shit, he has his mask while the last was, who is he calling a rat! His mind worked fast in moments like these. Logical connections could take an average person minutes to figure out, but to the Riddler it was close to the movement of electricity. Jonathan+Mask=powder toxin. It was a simple mathematical formula. So as soon as the words left the man’s mouth, instead of responding with some annoyed snappy response, he took in a deep breath of the smoke filled air. It wasn’t a pleasant breath, and he knew his lungs would protest against it. He had no other choice at this moment, so he dealt with it and tried to hold back himself for coughing.
His hand continued to work on the rope even faster. He felt it loosen around his wrist. He wiggled it within the binding and applied a little pressure. Yes, he had enough room. He wiggled his good hand out of the rope. Without his hand taking so much space, he was able to simply slip the rope off of his bad arm. He had only been holding his breath for a few seconds, and it was already becoming difficult. The smoke in his lungs was making this far more difficult then it needed to be. His legs, focus.
He heard the Scarecrow voice again. Without being dosed up with toxin, Edward thought the statement was completely absurd and ridiculous. How did anyone find his obsession with fear frightening? He would have rolled his eyes if he weren’t in such a hurry. His good hand went to the rope around his ankles. He had the pen still, but it would be quicker to undo it. His fingers felt the roughness of the rope and followed the curves. He couldn’t see it, so he was forced to handle this based off memory and touch. He pulled on a section of the rope. It was tight and wasn’t moving as much as he wanted. He shifted his ankles back and forth in attempts to loosen the knot as his hand continue to work on it. If he could just undo this one section, it would all come undone.
His lungs were screaming at him. He was running out of time. His eyebrows crunched together in focus and frustration. His hand pulled at the stupid knot. He felt it come undone. His eyes widened in hope, but his lungs still protested. He kicked his legs freeing them, but now his head was starting to feel light headed. The previous headache certainly did nothing to help. He thought over the situation. He could make a run for the door. Jonathan was more then likely blocking it. Edward wasn’t a runner anymore with his leg, and without a full breath of air, there was no way he could initiate the force needed to knock the man down. He smirked realizing the end result. Good move. Jonathan was going to get what he wanted tonight.
A fair trade….I suppose. Though, I would have preferred if he had merely asked me if he could poison me. However, this meant that Edward could have his only little test in the future.
His lungs, body, and mind all protested the lack of air. He decided there was no more reason to prolong the pain. He let out the breath he had been holding, and quickly took in whatever toxic air was floating in the room. Amazingly enough, it felt good even though Edward knew he wouldn’t be enjoying his experience of breathing for much longer. Before he completely lost his mind he needed to comment on something.
Right before he was knocked out, Jonathan had given him an answer to a riddle. He wasn’t certain why it came to mind now, maybe because he was about to face his greatest fears…
He smirked. “Jonathan, the answer was courage,” he committed happily, “But it’s not surprising a man like you did not figure that one out.”
As the words left his mouth, it sounded like an echo. He frowned. He bent his knees upward and leaned his good elbow on the top of one. He felt in a way like he was about to watch a movie, even though he knew the effect was already taking place physically. Whatever he had been drugged with was increasing his heart rate. He felt it against his chest.
The darkness and smoke was starting to bother him. The smoke seemed to be moving slowly around him and the red started to seep through molding with the darkness.
2+2=5
He heard some childish voice whisper hauntingly.
2+2=5
Other children whispered.
There was something about how wrong the statement was and the way that it was said that was making Edward feel…uncomfortable.
“No, it’s 4,” he remarked, not knowing why he was bending to whatever nonsense Jonathan had brought him into.
You’re wrong. You’re wrong. You’re wrong. You’re wrong.
The voices whispered, and Edward started looking around trying to locate the idiots who dare say that to him.
“No, I’m not. Look at any book,” he said defensively.
You are wrong, Edward! You always are!
The voice caused him to snap straight up. He hadn’t heard that voice in over ten years, but it sounded exactly like him. His breathing became more rush as his eyes did dart around the room in search of the monster who had ruined his childhood.
You are disgrace upon this family. Look what you have put you’re mother through! She is crying again. Stop hiding like a coward! Face you’re responsibilities like a man! Constantly blaming others! You are an idiot! It’s your own god damn fault! You’re mother babies you! You need to learn when you’re wrong. You need to accept that you are wrong! You will be horrible at everything you ever do because you can’t do anything right! You are a stupid boy. A stupid stupid boy!
Edward felt his legs push him under the table to hide from this man. He didn’t want to see him. He never wanted to see him, but he thought a figure was moving in the darkness. Was it him? Please, no…not him. He kept silent. For the first time in over ten years, Edward Nigma was completely silent, frozen in fear.
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Jonathan Crane - Scarecrow
"and at the end of fear...Oblivion"
Player: Jon ~
Registered On: Feb 15, 2012 20:39:14 GMT -5 ~
Posts: 941
~ Relationship Status: Won't Say I'm In Love
~ Partner: Fear
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Post by Jonathan Crane - Scarecrow on Feb 29, 2012 15:05:17 GMT -5
The Scarecrow stood at the door not quite ready to open it. He wanted to make sure that the effect had fully taken place. It was an unfortunate result that he would miss the first initial fear in his eyes. Another time perhaps...Regardless he was determined to still see the fear in his eyes.
The answer to the riddle made The Scarecrow smile. How clever, using something that he wouldn't spend too much time thinking over. Courage as Nigma had said in the riddle still came from fear. Though The Scarecrow knew that fear was the more powerful emotion. “Stay close to your riddle Nigma, you'll need all the courage you can muster..” The distortion from the mask replied to his remark. By now he would be beginning to feel the effects of the toxin. Staying silent for a few moments more he waited to hear some confirmation from him.
The thought that Nigma might be free didn't concern him now, it was far too late. The psychical effects of the toxin were different depending upon the person and depending upon the dosage. Some could walk around , run, and speak. Others may lay on their back and scream until they can't anymore. It all depended on their fears, and the will of the mind and body.
The smoke still hazed thick in the room, the dim red glow from the light above made the atmosphere beautiful for the effect that he wanted. But he couldn't stand not being able to see Nigma. Hearing him speak was all the conformation he needed. A smile came to his face as he slowly reached for the door knob behind him and turned it. He opened it only a little, just enough for the smoke to start clearing the room slowly. “Are you still so sure of yourself Nigma?” The distorted voice asked withing the clearing smoke. “Your powerful mind, your genius mind...Your best thinking got you to where you are right now” The Scarecrow tormented him taking slow steps towards the cowering body he could see underneath the good side of the broken table.
His head tilted, trying to get a better look at him. The smoke was clearing better now leaving a small ominous haze in the room. The once so talkative, witty Riddler reduced to complete silence. Nigma was hiding from something or someone. Calmly He moved towards the cowering man in front of him, that now seemed like a child. He noted the several capped syringes and broken glass around him kicking some of them out of the way as he bent down to Nigmas level.
Closer to him now he wanted to make sure that this moment would forever be in The Riddlers mind, something he would never forget. Pausing a moment staying in his current position he reached up to the voice masker switch and flipped it. The words that came from him next were spoken slowly and softly savoring each moment. “Like a child you hide from your fears...You see, your mind, your self, Nigma, The Riddler...” He paused for a moment and reached slowly to flip the switch yet again. “All because of fear, You see Nigma you are The Riddler....because of me” The distortion of the mask finished with a sinister laugh.
He was speaking of course about himself being fear itself. His eyes locked with Nigma's watching the fear pour out of the man even through his silence. In a way they weren't so different, him and The Riddler. He could only imagine without further reaction that Nigma feared failure and being wrong. But there was something else, something deeper than that. Something that stemmed the fear, that made it grow. This is now what he was looking for almost greedily.
Carefully his hand reached out to Nigma's arm. Touch usually is enough to put most of his paitents into dangerous amounts of fear. The screaming would normally happen then with a normal human being. Nigma was far from normal however. The scene was euphoric to The Scarecrow, so much so that it almost made him change his methods. Normally he would have carried on with his display of fear, in attempt to scare the paitent, by laughing, saying terrible unspeakable things. Usually the Scarecrow became their fears, or what they feared most. Only time would tell with him though.
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Post by Deleted on Feb 29, 2012 21:08:07 GMT -5
Edward’s childhood had not been a pleasant one. When asked about it by the oh so talented Doctors of Arkham, he would merely state, ‘Boring, next.’ The Doctors would then begin to pry, and so Edward would spend the next forty-five minutes of the session wonderfully dancing around the questions. To be honest, it wasn’t that he didn’t particularly wanted to share, but rather the fact that most of it was cloudy memories. He knew the general gist of his childhood, but he never cared to dig deeper because the upfront memory of it all was….fear, pure terrifying fear. He remembered feeling it every day before he stepped into the house. He remembered getting extra homework or projects just to stay at school. He even got so desperate, he started picking fights with other kids or disrespecting the teacher just to get a detention. None of it worked, of course. He always eventually came back, and it was always more nightmarish then the day before.
Jonathan’s voice did not sound like Jonathan to him, and if he wasn’t in this state of panic, he would appreciate the chemical for being able to trick his mind in such a way. No, Jonathan’s voice sounded deep with a slight city street twang in it, and he heard it getting closer.
Your powerful mind, your genius mind…Your best thinking got you to where you are right now.
Edward pushed farther back into the wall as he felt shame. His eyes didn’t take in a random room…no, the floor looked like the same basement floor he had been thrown onto multiple nights. The blood….it was his blood from the night before. His heart picking up, and his breathing became heavier. If he hid under the stairs, he wouldn’t find him this time. He was hiding under the stairs like a hopeless being, and that knowledge caused another emotion to take over. Disgust in himself and his worth. He hated feeling this way, but that man….he managed to not only to destroy him physically but mentally as well. He felt so small, so pointless…
He heard the steps towards him and held his breath hoping that not making a sound would keep him hidden. As the steps neared him he saw the disgusting white Nike tennis shoe that had been acquainted to his ribs more then a few times.
Once again, if Edward wasn’t lost with in the toxin, he would marvel at how effective it was. When he thought back on his childhood, details were lost, but something within the toxin took his suppressed memories and dragged them out into reality.
Do you finally realize that you are not smart? Stop lying. My son will not lie to me.
The voice said coldly as the tennis shoes faced him. He had been found. His heart felt like it was going to rip out of his chest with how fast it was pounding. He was so frozen in fear he couldn’t think of a way to escape.
“I haven’t lied to you. I never lie,” he pleaded with the man. Hearing how pathetic his voice sounded hurt his ears. He mentally winced at it and wished those horrible words and pitiable display never happened. His pride and dignity died on the spot. The reason his greatest fear was this one man was simple. He was the only person who managed to make Edward feel weak, stupid, wrong, helpless, and pathetic with only a few words. The man destroyed the pride Edward held so value.
He saw the legs in front of him shift, and he watched as the jeans bent at the knee. He knew what was coming. He saw the yellow plumber polo, and his heart skipped a beat. He bit his lip, holding back any sound of whimper or protest.
He closed his eyes not wanting to see his face.
“Please not tonight,” he begged.
You are the Riddler because of me.
The words weren’t from the man he expected. They we’re different and caused a spark in the back of his mind to light. The Riddler….
He was the Riddler wasn’t he?
His heart slowed for a moment.
He was the Riddler. He was a genius. He outsmarted anyone who got in his way. Why was he acting this way? He shouldn’t be afraid.
A hand touched him, and he winced at the unknown. Was it really the man who haunted him?
Son, you are nothing.
The man’s voice had returned and made him inwardly cringe, but something didn’t make sense. The touch was too light for the man’s heavy hand. This man was also being too patient before beating him senseless. More importantly…
His father was dead…
The thought hit him like a brick. He needed to get a hold of himself. He took in a deep breath and slowly opened his eyes. Seeing it, in front of him almost shook him out of his focus calm. The face that looked at him looked very similar to the one he saw in the mirror, except with more weight and wider. His breath caught in his throat as he tried to find the words he were looking for.
His tongue stumbled along his mouth, his throat felt dry, but with another calm breath he said with stern calmness, “You can’t be here. I killed you, Father.”
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Jonathan Crane - Scarecrow
"and at the end of fear...Oblivion"
Player: Jon ~
Registered On: Feb 15, 2012 20:39:14 GMT -5 ~
Posts: 941
~ Relationship Status: Won't Say I'm In Love
~ Partner: Fear
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Post by Jonathan Crane - Scarecrow on Feb 29, 2012 23:29:55 GMT -5
Nigma begging and pleading before him It was hard not to get lost in the ecstasy of the situation. The fears of others made him feel in control, they made him feel perfect. They gave him purpose, a reason for being. But just fear from Nigma alone, made him feel invincible, made him feel powerful. In fear there was great power, the power to influence the mind, to influence the heart, and the ultimate actions of others. In one fleeting moment, everything that you truly are is seen. That first initial brush with fear is everything that you are. All his toxin did was take this moment, make it real, and make it seem like an eternity.
The powdered Toxin was his earliest creation. It didn't have as long as an effect as the others but it was strong. It wasn't a surprise to him that it delivered perfectly once again the results he wanted. The Scarecrow couldn't help but smile hearing the words from Nigmas mouth. He had believed him to be the arbiter of his fears, as he had wanted. But this was so much more personal, his father.
So his Father was behind the man that was Edward Nigma - The Riddler. What was more interesting was that he had killed him. He swallowed and caught himself in a sensation that was far too close to home and uncomfortable for his liking. It bothered him more than he thought. The Scarecrow's eyes snapped back into life from behind the mask studying Nigma's now.
“You cannot kill me...How could you? You've failed Edward...” He spoke knowing now that Nigma had done something even more interesting. The statement meant that he was beginning to question what was in front of him. Impressive, Nigma. The role of Nigma's nightmare he would have to continue to play to get him to slip further into losing his mind.
More reinforcement was needed., The Scarecrow thought for a moment and reached slowly to the split on his arm. It would only take a small squeeze to inflict pain. It was a special case, he didn't normally like using pain, but if it went along with the fear of the patient then it worked just fine. He wasn't sure that pain was associated with Nigma's Father. But the fear came from something, so he took his best guess. The earlier statement that he had made 'not tonight' had only furthered his theory.
The irony of the situation was thick around them. The broken bottles on the floor, two of them mixted together bonded to form an antidote for his toxin. It was unfortunate that Nigma made the Nightmare last longer himself.
The satisfaction had came to The Scarecrow, he now knew the Riddler's darkest fears. He had gotten what he wanted. Now there was only the matter of what to do with him. Killing The Riddler wouldn't contribute to any of his research he had done here tonight. There was still so much more that could be done, so much more that could be tested. No, he wanted The Riddler to come out of his alive. His sanity was not a current issue, with his kind of will power it wouldn't be far too long until he was able to distinguish the real world from the nightmare.
Some of his patients became violent at times, swiping or slashing away at him. They had to be detained or restrained at times from doing so, Hysteria was a common side effect of experiencing your fears. At the moment Nigma seemed to be calm, but with the pain added he could snap.
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Post by Deleted on Mar 1, 2012 1:10:11 GMT -5
His eyes analyzed the man in front of him hesitantly. Edward Nigma might be trapped in his fears, but he is still the Riddler. He has a tendency to over analyze every thing in front of him, and while his heart is starting to pick up speed again, he risk a look at his father. The unshaven scruff on his chin is still there. The frustration wrinkle in his forehead that never left was still in its place. The scowl along his father lips felt more threatening then ever. He felt his breath picking up and scratching against the back of his throat. It didn’t make sense. He had killed him.
He was certain he had killed him because it was the only moment in Edward Nigma’s life where he had actually planned on killing someone with as much violent force as he could. It was the only time that Edward would admit that he murdered someone, though he would never voice it aloud. He had planned it perfectly. He had cut the electricity to the house. He then put mother’s laundry basket in front of the door at the top of the stairs. He shouted, ‘Mother, I did it this time! I did it!’ He knew that such a simple proclamation would work up his already drunken father since they both knew his mother was out of the house, and his father was already angry about missing his show.
He heard stomping from upstairs as the man moved to the basement door. ‘Boy, what are you on about now?!’ his father had shouted as he swung open the door, ‘If ya gonna lie don’t try to fool us!’ Those were the last words his father would utter because he tripped over the basket and fell down the stairs in a shambles, hitting hard on the rough floor of the basement.
Edward didn’t take long. He moved to his father who was still breathing, and while he wanted to beat the man with a bat he prevented himself for his mother’s sake. Instead, he straddled the man and grabbed his face before he came out of his daze. ‘I have always wanted to kill you, father. Do you believe that is a lie, as well?’ he had asked then lifted the man’s head and banged it onto the ground. He heard a sickening crack and knew it was his father’s skull. ‘Do you not believe I am smart enough to accomplish it?’ He slammed it back again. Another crunch sound. ‘Do you believe I am nothing to you now?’ He slammed it again and continued to slam it until he noticed the puddle of blood escaping from the wound in the back of his father’s head. That was the day he gained his freedom, and soon after that Edward Nashton had changed his name to Edward Nigma to never return to that town again.
The memory felt so clear in his mind, so how was his father standing here.
You cannot kill me. How could you? You’ve failed, Edward, again.
Edward felt his hand start shaking as the statement left his father’s mouth, as his eyes locked with his father’s angry glare. His father was going to kill him. He was almost certain of it. Edward’s eyes darted around, but he felt helpless as the man closed in on him. How did he fail? Why did he always fail? Was his father really right? The question plagued his mind as they always did when facing this man, and then it happened.
His father punched him, and somehow Edward had managed to block using his arm. He couldn’t explain it, but that force felt more powerful then any of his father’s other attacks. Had he broken his arm? It wouldn’t be the first time, but from one punch. It hurt so much. Why did it hurt so much! Unlike the last time when dealing with pain, he actually let out a partial scream as he tried to cover his arm from the pain and any expected future attacks.
Get up, boy. You are supposed to be a man. Don’t cry. Suck it up, and take it.
At the mention of tears, he almost did. He cried so many times on that basement floor. They very floor he was now lying on. He knew his father would probably kick him, so it was better to curl. He felt so pathetic. He felt like a failure. He did want to cry. It wasn’t fair. He had killed him. He had, and now, his father was going to kill him.
No, he can’t have that happen. He can’t. He had read that great book in middle school…what was it….it was written by Thomas Hobbes…Leviathan.
“Life is a state of war on every man against every man,” he mumbled softly to himself, following with a different segment, “The First maketh men invade for gain; the second, for safety; and the third for reputation.”
He loved those words because they reminded him that the only person to be relied on in this world is oneself. Fear crippled him from moving, but if his life were in danger, he would act. It was the very reason he had killed the man before….but he hadn’t…
The contradiction continued to pull at him, but then he felt something. It wasn’t the pain in his arm…no it was a much worse pain hidden in the background of his mind, but now that he noticed it, it seemed to explode like an open dam. Where had that come from? His father hadn’t moved! It hurt so much! What was attacking his leg? Why did it hurt?
His good hand flew to it, as he hissed. His focus pulled away from his father and moving to the pain. Why did he feel this? Something had happened to his leg, his mind knew the answer. He knew it did because it nagged at him.
He had never had so much trouble thinking in his life. Things that were supposed to be logical weren’t any more. Part of him was screaming to be afraid of his father while the other part was telling him to stop the pain in his leg. From an outsider’s perspective, it would be clearly ironic because those two events in his life were the catalyst to his development of the Riddler. To think the events would now fight against each other.
He groaned in pain. “Why does my leg hurt?” he mumbled the question to himself, sounding very much like he sounded when he was fourteen years old, when he asked too many questions. He knew his father would hurt him for that. He always did, but nothing made sense.
He had to get to the bottom of this riddle before he died.
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Jonathan Crane - Scarecrow
"and at the end of fear...Oblivion"
Player: Jon ~
Registered On: Feb 15, 2012 20:39:14 GMT -5 ~
Posts: 941
~ Relationship Status: Won't Say I'm In Love
~ Partner: Fear
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Post by Jonathan Crane - Scarecrow on Mar 1, 2012 17:19:22 GMT -5
The worth of the research he practiced meant to the world to him. His job, his life, his acceptance was gained through his research. Well respected, acclaimed, and acknowledged. His research was everything and Nigma was no exception. There was one small emotion that came up from the depths of the Scarecrow and presented itself in his mind. Watching his eyes almost felt like a challenge, like Nigma was trying to make sense of his new world, and the Father he feared in it.
Seeing his fearful stare, at the brink of tears, The Scarecrow knew then that he had truly gotten to him. The once prideful, egotistical, 'genius' that was Edward Nigma, was broken. The Scarecrows expression changed for a moment to curiosity as he heard him begin to speak. Immediately he noted at it was a familiar passage. Thomas Hobbes work, Leviathan, a book about the structure of society itself. Fitting that Nigma would quote a book that spoke much of ignorance and knowledge.
The Scarecrow moved back slightly as Nigma's arm flew to his leg. His leg must have been causing him pain. Pain that was self inflicting, not from the nightmare he was experiencing. There was many reasons why he would refrain from using pain unless the situation called for it. Pain was a stimulant, it makes the neurons fire more. The more the brain is actively involved in other areas besides fear, the more dangerous the patient could become. The toxin worked so well in most because fear was the dominating emotion, fear controls everything.
He stayed silent for the moment as Nigma murmured about his pain. He now knew the emotion that had come up from inside, deep inside. Pity...For a small moment he connected with him having an obvious ruined childhood. So much fear.. Were they so different? The Riddler and the Scarecrow?
The Scarecrow....The Master of Fear. His research in the subject before him was all there was. It's all that mattered. His research into the beautiful emotion of fear. The University had brought him all the knowledge that day about fear in society. The day at the University, when everything changed. It was the beginning of a slippery slope, discredited, thrown out! The one good thing that came out of it was his time at Arkham. All the his finding, all of his studies.....
But it wasn't this way was it? Society had ripped everything from him. The respect, the notoriety , acknowledgment...His degrees, his titles. Everything was gone in one bang of the gavel. They were afraid of him...
The emotion that had been for Nigma turned and left, it would be no more. The Scarecrow looked down at the broken man and his body language became cynical and the life had left his eyes. He was fear incarnate. The Lord of Despair, and all of Gotham bow to the terrible god of fear. ..Nigma was no exception.
Slowly his eyes traced the ground along the glass scattered about the floor. The small shattered pieces reflected a small amount of the red glow that emitted in the hazed room. The Scarecrow bent down slowly and picked up a piece careful not the stick his self with it. “I am the nightmare...” He spoke softly from within the distortion of the mask. “See the Safety of the life you have made, Feel the hallowness inside your heart. What if all the worlds inside of your head?” He said to Nigma now bending back to his level.
Glass in hand he reached his hand behind Nigma and grabbed the back of his hair. He didn't care if the glass was cutting him or not. Right now it didn't matter. His grip tightened and he moved to whisper in his ear. “When you look at your reflection...Is it all you want to be? If you could see through it. would you find yourself afraid of what you saw?” He breathed with delight to Nigma, finding the riddle ironic in his own way. His hand slipped now to grip Nigma's left leg and he dragged him out from underneath the table. “There is no safe place...” The distortion of fear came from behind the mask as he regained his posture. Turning the glass slowly in his fingertips.
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Post by Deleted on Mar 1, 2012 19:56:43 GMT -5
Edward Nigma was not accustomed to the feeling of confusion as it currently wrapped its grip around his mind. He did not enjoy the feeling, and the annoyance of it was distracting him from both his conflicting pain and fear. His father’s eyes baring down on his soul were causing him to panic, but he knew he couldn’t do anything about his father until he figured this out. Why was his leg hurting? His father had not touched him there. Had it been hurting before?
He felt himself trying to think through the thick fog on his mind. He didn’t remember a before. Somehow he had appeared in his basement. Why had he not questioned the fact before? His father had distracted him. The fear of his mind had been the only thought in his head until the drastic pain had invaded. Even for how unbelievably horrid it felt, it was actually causing him to think more clearly. There were many things out of place and unanswered: the death of his father, the relocation, the pain, the way his father switched from sounding intelligent to sounding like a brute, and the way his father actually paused to stare at him instead of constantly beating him.
He would first focus on this pain because if he didn’t get control of it, he was certain he would go into shock and then his father would kill him. It was centered in his leg, close to the bone, but more near the muscle. His hand pressed against his shin trying to figure out if it was broken. His fingers pressed against his slacks to fell skin, but as he traced it downwards to his foot, he realized there was some type of deformity, like he was missing a chunk of skin or muscles where there needed to be. The touch rocked the back of his mind, and he remembered the jog, the drunk driver, the accident, that would lead him into going in surgery. Ever since that day, he felt pain. How could he forget that? It was an important riddle, and as his mind chewed over it, he found himself less focus on the pain. His mind once again recognized the familiar feeling and attempted to numb it.
His father shook him from his thoughts when he began speaking. Edward looked up at him with frightful eyes. He knew something was wrong here, but he also knew the man would kill him if he didn’t show respect. He listened with the upmost attention to his father’s words. He was ready to beg or plead in order to stop his father from doing whatever he was thinking he was doing, but the words were resonating correctly with Edward’s logic. His father never had been one for charisma. He also had never been one to have much thought above his liquor, but the words that came from his father’s lips were smooth and intelligent.
He blinked as his eyebrows crunched over, and he once again judged his father’s features. Better question, when did his father start listening to gothic Nine Inch Nail music? It wasn’t Edward’s thing, he always preferred the classics, but Echo and Query enjoyed the shit. Echo and Query….they used to work for him. He had employees…because he wasn’t a fourteen year old boy. He was a man.
What if all the worlds inside of your head?
The question made him pause, and he would have buried himself deeper into the statement if his father wouldn’t have grabbed his hair and forced him forward. His breathing had taken off again and the fear started to rise. He felt a pain at his head, and realized his father had some type of weapon. He was planning on killing him.
He heard the words whispered into his ear, and he tried to focus on them so he could answer his father’s question. Once again, he was confused that his father would ever state them, but he thought of his reflection. The first thought being of a thin tall boy lifting his shirt in the mirror to look over the bruises that stained his stomach. He remembered hating the image and wincing before pulling his shirt down and crossing his arm over his chest. He would pout out his lip and glare at himself. ‘I’m better then this,’ he would state in the mirror because he was better then this. He was Edward Nashton…no
He was Edward Nigma.
He was the Riddler!
The thought of his current reflection came to mind, a tall lean man standing in the mirror with an expensive and fashionable suit. The man would smirk before leaving the room with confidence to take on the world. He was the Riddler. He could do anything. He had proven his father wrong because everyone else was wrong. The Riddler was always right.
The Riddler had killed his father when he was fifteen years old. If that was the case then this man was not his father. He couldn’t be. The imposter had already made so many mistakes in portraying him, and they bleed through his act. But who was the imposter?
He puzzled over it, but the imposter had grabbed his leg and pulled him from his hiding spot, not only causing pain but anger to rile in Edward. Now, that Edward had determined this man wasn’t his father there really was no reason to be frightened of him. Whoever was doing this, he noted, got some sort of pleasure out of watching him squirm, and it killed his dignity but he let out a yelp of fear as he pulled out from underneath. He needed more time to figure out who this imposter was and what he was planning so he could get rid of him.
If it meant acting for a small period, he would accomplish it, so he grabbed onto the good table leg to keep himself from getting completely pulled away. It came off like he was scared of being taken away, but he was using the table to pull the imposter back towards him. Of course the weak table leg didn’t give him the amount of force he wanted and his left hand was in too much pain to really grip, so he had to actually use his left leg to more drastically pull the imposter back towards him. He knew the imposter would be looking at him, so in that small step the impostor was force to make, Edward lifted his leg and hit the man right in the face with the blunt of his foot.
Edward never was much of a fighter, but the simple shock would cause the imposter to at least let go of his leg or hopefully fall down. When his leg was free, he glanced around his basement floor and caught note to some familiar objects. Edward was certain he was drugged now. As a stoner would stupidly state, he felt like he was ‘trippin’. Seeing his basement floor from his past, but toys from his future….it was an unpleasant feeling of contradiction. He could mentally handle it because he now realized it was in his mind. The mind was powerful. He just wish the hallucination of his home and father would stop. He assumed that would happen with time. No drug lasted forever.
Speaking of drugs, fear, and gothic lyrics, the answer to his riddle came to the forefront of his mind. Jonathan Crane was playing out his father.
He rolled his eyes before standing up and brushing himself off. He hoped he broke the bastards jaw or nose. “Jonathan, I want the antidote,” he stated coldly to the imposter as he moved to his trinkets, keeping an eye on his ‘father’.
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Jonathan Crane - Scarecrow
"and at the end of fear...Oblivion"
Player: Jon ~
Registered On: Feb 15, 2012 20:39:14 GMT -5 ~
Posts: 941
~ Relationship Status: Won't Say I'm In Love
~ Partner: Fear
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Post by Jonathan Crane - Scarecrow on Mar 1, 2012 21:26:27 GMT -5
The Scarecrows was always a theatrical man. Especially when he began to study the mind. So many things effected the mind in different ways, among his most treasured, fear. Sound's could induce fear, lyrics, scenery, smell, and touch. When he chose to be cryptic with his words it was all in an effort to create fear. But as he showed to his classroom at Gotham University the theatrical part in him could get him into trouble.
The Scarecrow laughed as his victim struggled at a hopeless attempt to not come out from his hiding place. It was only then he realized he had made a mistake. Nigma's shoe went forcefully into his face causing him to let go and fall backwards onto his back and hands. It was like a grenade had just went off in the room. His ears rang, he could feel his heart rate increasing. Somewhere in the fall he had dropped the glass in his hands.
Under a normal circumstance he would have been prepared for such an assault. He would have also been able to roll backwards and upright again with the blow. Violent dancing was one of his greatest side projects. His own special art he had created by blending two martial arts together, Kung-fu Crane and Drunken boxing. It was all in an effort to strike, disarm, dodge, and recover easily from blows.
The Scarecrow brought his right hand to his mask and felt through it. The room blurred for a moment, he could see a figure raising to it's feet. Was he bleeding? A stream of something was running down his face. He kicked him... It wasn't often that his patients got a good blow on him but it wasn't surprising when they acted in a violent manner. A few had even attacked him with weapons before, knives, tools, even his own syringes. But he was always ready, and always won in the end. He would win over Nigma in this too...
So he thought, and then Nigma began to speak. “What?!?” The Scarecrow replied to Nigma's statement in utter shock. How!?..How!? No one has resisted his methods this way. 'No one Crane?' No one that he would admit. He paused for a moment in awe of the situation itself. How could he resist the toxin this way?? It was impossible. He breathed for a moment lifting up his mask only momentarily to wipe the blood that had streamed down to his chin already off. Pulling it back over he puzzled over the situation.
The antidote...Of course. The two compounds he needed to make the antidote Nigma had brought crashing to the floor with his ridiculous stunt. He began to laugh softly raising to his feet. For a moment he staggered still dizzy from the initial blow. Nigma might have broken something, or at least left enough damage to draw blood from somewhere. “There is your antidote” He said with his laughter raising a hand to point at the shattered remains on the floor.
Of course he had more, but he wasn't going to tell Nigma that. Why would he give him the Antidote? Even if he was upright and mostly coherent he didn't scare him. His thought was interrupted as his eyes blurred again. Nigma had really hit him good, caught him off guard. The Scarecrow wouldn't admit the small amount of nervousness that was arising from the effects of the blow to his head. Shaking his head in an attempt to get his sight to adjust he rose his hands slightly. He was ready for anything Nigma may try if he would assault him again. However, the blow to his head had made him quite dizzy.
“Are you scared Edward?” He said mockingly towards him. The very thought that he was able to resist the toxins effects infuriated and fascinated him. It wasn't possible, it just didn't happen. Out of all the patients he had ever used it on, the chances were just incredible. “You can't escape it, you may wake from the nightmare, but you will never escape it. The nightmare will come again night after night, and now, Fear knows who you really are..” He couldn't help himself but laugh. The situation was almost escaping his reality to comprehend.
The room blurred once more and in the midst of trying to adjust his eyes he noticed that his two syringes were still at the bottom of the table. They glowed with their neon yellow liquid resonating from within. They were closer to Nigma than him, and the only syringe he had on him now was the morphine. He smiled and reached for it in his Jacket keeping a close eye on Nigma. He didn't know it was Morphine...If he could he would attempt to frighten him with it. At least enough to be able to get to his real serum. The antidote compounds were in the containment room, there was never very much of it but it would have been plenty to use on himself when needed. He held the syringe between his fingers and pushed the top somewhat attempting to intimidate Nigma.
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Post by Deleted on Mar 1, 2012 23:13:36 GMT -5
There was a reason why people proclaimed Edward Nigma was the only man who intellectually match wits with the Batman, and it was because they possessed the same level of deductive reasoning skills. Edward would always state his were better, but in reality they were on par with one another. The thing that Crane constantly seemed to miss in reference to his fear toxin, and something Edward wouldn’t figure out until after he escapes and has a chances to analyze it, is that the toxin’s strength is within the mind. If ones mind is constantly skeptical of the surroundings and has the will power to numb pain, it is only expected that the effects of the fear toxin would be thrown out as illogical. Of course, all the effect do not disappear. Edward was still obviously hallucinating, which annoyed him to no end, but he still recognized that what he was seeing was a hallucination.
The image itself was starting to flicker in his mind. He would see his father in the basement in one second then the Scarecrow in the red room the next. It was causing the beginning of a headache that he knew would only tag onto his other headache. He hated headaches…
As he picked up four of the explosive question marks and pocketed them into his slacks he heard his father outraged cry…no Jonathan’s. He glanced at the man on the floor shooting him a glare in the process. Furious could be considered an understatement at the moment for Edward’s feelings. He felt humiliated that Jonathan had not only gotten the upper hand, but that the man now knew things that Edward had not ever uttered since the incident all those years ago. If he wasn’t in such a fragile state at the moment, he would have actually taken out his anger on the nearest living thing, in other words Crane. Instead, he watched the man carefully. He would not be thrown off guard again. He was the Riddler! The most intelligent man in Gotham City, more then likely the world! A man like Jonathan Crane stood no chance.
When his question received laughter he glared at the man before pouting out his lips. Hmm. How unfortunate, but Edward knew there would be more. Jonathan wouldn’t risk accidentally drugging himself if he didn’t have another antidote. The other option would be to wait out the toxin effects, but he found the headache increasingly annoying. The flickering of reality and nightmare was becoming faster. He decided the best way to solve this would be to put most of his focus on the man in the room with him. Jonathan’s voice had become clearly evident and apart from his father, which did wonders to calming his speeding heart. Edward was not afraid of Jonathan. He never was and never would be. The man did not possess his same level of intelligence. He was merely a man to Edward. He watched as he stood, and smirked as he watched his father stumble.
The mocking words that followed only grew Edward’s smirk. They only proved how desperately Jonathan was trying to regain his control. “Ah Jonathan, do you think I was not having those nightmares before? A riddle every one knows, does it hold value?” he chuckled light heartedly, already knowing the answer. He rolled the explosive question marks between his fingers within his slacks as he watched the man “That can hardly be considered a threat. Come on you can do better then that,” he taunted.
Edward kept his focus though, even with the distractive word play. He noticed that Jonathan wasn’t moving as fluently as he was before. Ah, the blow to the face must of hurt. Good, you deserved that and much worst. He also noticed that Jonathan, no his father this moment was having watchful eyes. A very odd look on his father, he grimaced at it, but noticed where the direction was. He didn’t move his head from facing the man in front of him. He didn’t want him to know that he might be onto his plan. He used his peripherals to judge what it was, and glowing fluid is not a difficult thing miss.
He inwardly frowned. He hadn’t even managed to destroy the toxin! This whole situation was becoming very frustrating and tackling Edward’s pride. It made no sense at all, how this had managed to happen! First Batman! Then Crane! Twice in one night! It was outrageous! He took a deep breath trying to calm himself.
When Jonathan pulled out the morphine from his jacket, Edward perked up at bit. And yes, Edward knew it was morphine! He had determined that before when he first tried to taunt him into fear then showed him the actual toxin syringes.
Desperate. Very Desperate.
“Jonathan, before you can make even more of a fool out of yourself,” he said in a tired annoyed irritation as he took calm steps backwards towards the actual syringes. He knew the man would probably take those steps as fear because he was so trapped in his obsession at the moment, but it worked for Edward’s benefit. “I would like to inform you that I was not lying when I said I had explosives on me,” he pulled one out of his pocket showing it off in a way with a smirk, “As soon as I press the dot, they are set to explode in a minute. That is more then enough time for me to leave your home and be safely on my way. However, it is not more then enough time to get rid of all of these little trinkets I plan on throwing all over your home.”
He paused and brought the question mark to his face and tapped it in a thoughtful way. He continued to step back. If Jonathan made a run for the toxin, he would beat him to it and kick the horrible stuff against the wall. Edward’s leg might limit his mobility, but in such a small room it was hardly a hassle. “Hmm, and if I remember correctly you stated something along the lines that a single spark could blow this place to pieces. It would be quite unfortunate because you would lose all your research. I don’t particularly care, so I’m almost tempted just to press the button now and say my farewells. However, I am an intelligent man and realize when I can gain something from a situation. I am going to make this simple for you since I feel like you might not understand me,” he stated, his voice starting to go dark.
“Riddle me this, what does a pissed off Riddler want beside revenge,” he stated coldly before stepping on the vials of fear toxin with his shoe. He heard the sound of breaking glass. He didn’t normally curse because it was the sign of the less intelligent, but Edward’s nerves and anger had been pushed to a thin thread at this point, so all was up in the air.
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Jonathan Crane - Scarecrow
"and at the end of fear...Oblivion"
Player: Jon ~
Registered On: Feb 15, 2012 20:39:14 GMT -5 ~
Posts: 941
~ Relationship Status: Won't Say I'm In Love
~ Partner: Fear
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Post by Jonathan Crane - Scarecrow on Mar 2, 2012 1:20:09 GMT -5
For the first time in what seems like hours, there was no fear in The Riddler's eyes. There was something else, it was more than hatred. The Scarecrow got the satisfaction he wanted, he had won. It must have been humiliating. It was nothing compared to the euphoria from the fear that was in his eyes, but he got some sick satisfaction out of it.
The scene that was happening was almost surreal to him. Nigma was fighting the toxin more than ever at this point. Seeing this in Nigma sparked something in The Scarecrows mind that he hadn't thought of before. Something that never even crossed his mind when The Batman did the very same. His mind raced through the idea, but halted when his vision was met with another blurr. He would have to think about this later.
His insults flared anger in The Scarecrow. If the person that knew the solution, that knew your secrets, held a threat to those secrets, of course it holds value. How much does one man value his pride? Nigma certainly held his in high regard. He would have snapped back at him but stopped himself as he went to speak. His eyes scanned over the toy that Nigma claimed to be an explosive. He didn't doubt it to be the truth. After the the other toy had spread smoke all over the room how could he?
His expression fell to almost curious as Nigma threatened him with the explosive. Did he really mean to blow up everything that was here? The threat felt empty as The Scarecrow thought about it. There would be nothing stopping him from following Nigma away from the explosive in time. He wouldn't stick around to fight with him and risk being blown apart. The explosion would questionably level the building, or at least burn it to the ground. He couldn't help but smile as he picked apart his acquaintances plan. He wouldn't have any time to spread the trinkets around the apartment, not without the pursuit of The Scarecrow. There was either something he wasn't telling him, or he was bluffing.
Getting to the syringe was all that mattered now, his eyes blurred again but it was fading. His head was throbbing with pain but it his vision was slowly stabilizing. He would have taken a step forward but it was stopped as The Riddler brought the question mark to his forehead. He was continually moving backwards. Was he Scared? His grip tightened around the needle and he took another step forward. It was only when he mentioned his research that he wouldn't take a step further.
He may not be able to blow up his apartment in the manner that he originally stated, he may not be able to kill The Scarecrow, but he could still blow up the lab. Nothing would stop Nigma from pressing the button and running out the door, Scarecrow would follow and probably jump out the window instead of run down the hall. It would be better than risking trapping himself inside a collapsing building. But his research, his toxins, the would be destroyed. It was all replaceable of course, but it was so much work gone from one wrong move. Not to mention the GCPD would follow soon after.
The Riddler gave his Riddle, and The Scarecrow opened his grip from the syringe, placing it slowly in his jacket. He knew the Riddler wanted the antidote. With the sound of the breaking syringe there was not much choice left. He rose his hand with a body language that was telling Nigma to hold on, take it easy. It was clear that he had ripped the upper hand from him in this situation. The anger in his voice could not be mistaken. Slowly he pulled off his mask, The Scarecrow would have to sit this one out. Something in him couldn't bear for the Scarecrow to give the answer Nigma wanted. His face must have not looked it's best, it would look even worse tomorrow. It was bloody, that much was certain. He wasn't worried about the powdered toxin he had released earlier, it had been quite a while since he threw it.
“Alright Nigma...” he said softly to him attempting to keep The Riddler calm. “I suppose you deserve something for what you have given me” He had to add to it, he had still won. “The Antidote... It's in the containment room out the door behind you, through the first door you see. Second drawer to the right, first row four across, next to an empty square, fourth row six across, next to another empty square. 4cc's of the first and 2cc's of the second.” He couldn't help but smile as he swallowed and continued “I could always mix it for you.....” There would be no telling right now whether he had told him the truth or not, except for the empty squares next to the spots that he had said. Giving an indication that he had pulled them out earlier. But it wasn't the only squares that had missing containers.
Not wanting to have his research blown to smithereens he had told the truth. What he wondered now was what would Nigma have him do while he goes into the containment room to make the antidote? If he chose to do it himself, did he really expect for Dr. Crane to stay put while he did that? His fingers twitched a bit holding the mask. Still wincing slightly from the blow to his head. He wondered what he would have him do. This would be the Riddler's revenge? Blowing up his lab? He was taking the statement far too literal he imagined. There was real anger behind those words. He had something else planned...
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Post by Deleted on Mar 2, 2012 12:31:43 GMT -5
Edward waited patiently as he watched Jonathan skeptically. He was not in the mood to deal with anymore of Jonathan’s little tricks he might pull from his sleeves. He was tired, angry, and emotionally exhausted. Not to mention, he still had a headache, his arm hurt, and his leg still protested. The hallucination he was still seeing was starting to cause him twitch in irritation. Part of him did just want to blow up Jonathan’s apartment just out of spite, but Edward had no interest in running before the explosive went off. It would only further the pain in his leg. He would do it if he had too, but it wasn’t his goal. At this point, Edward only wanted to get space from this man so he could better think through the situation. Unlike Jonathan, Edward needed time to contemplate over his plans. He could up with plans on the spot, but they lacked creativity and only focused on one thing: escape. Revenge took time, and the Riddler planned to get his revenge. Before he could do that he would need to get a good distance away from here.
Jonathan slowly put away the morphine, but Edward was still cautious. He knew that Jonathan understood the way the situation had turned. This plan that Edward was using was actually his first plan that he had expected to use to leave the apartment before Jonathan used the splint to get the upper hand and knock him out. Jonathan then pulled off his mask, and Edward smirked. He looked horrible. He hadn’t expected that kick to happen so beautifully. The blood that stained his face gave Edward back some of the pride he had lost tonight.
He listened to Jonathan speak. He had lost that creepy voice and act he pulled off when he tried to scare others. It was calm and collective only proving to Edward that Jonathan had no interest in losing his research tonight. Good, he had expected as much. He listened carefully to where Jonathan kept the antidote. Edward didn’t trust him. He had no doubt that Jonathan would try to manipulate him into dosing himself up with more toxin, and if that happen, Edward wasn’t sure if he would be able to pull himself back from it. The only reason he was able to pull himself from this one was only because Jonathan had made so many mistakes that Edward was able to catch. The smile his father gave, no Jonathan, this hallucination was driving him mad, was beyond creepy and only continued his doubts.
His eyes darted to the antidote that Jonathan had pointed out before. He knew that was really the antidote because Jonathan had gotten to much pleasure from the irony of the situation. He took note to the size of the bottles, and he even caught the label of the other. He tucked away the information. If one of the labels didn’t match this label he would take it that Jonathan had indeed lied to him, and he would indeed go without the antidote and blow the place up. After all, that would mean that Jonathan had not answered the riddle correctly. There had to be consequences for being wrong.
“No need,” he said with a forced smile, “If an unlicensed doctor can mix it, I think it should be no challenge for me.” It was a low jab, he knew it, but he was too angry to care at this point. He kept the question mark held in his hand and his eyes on Jonathan as he walked towards the door. He opened it. It was a normal apartment door so the lock was inside instead of outside like he would have preferred. No matter. He locked the door. He then brought his right leg up and kicked the door handle, not knocking it fully off, but successful breaking it. He certainly wouldn’t be able to merely turn the doorknob to undo the lock. He would have to pull off the handle somehow and then mess with the mechanics inside to undo it. It would take time. Certainly enough time for Edward to get the antidote and walk away from this nightmare. He focused on Jonathan for only a moment longer before smirking, “I would thank you for your hospitality, but lets be honest, the service here was terrible. I will be seeing you soon.” He left the threat hang in the air before walking through the door and shutting it.
When his face focused on the door, he closed his eyes and let out a sigh. He then pocketed the explosive and turned to the door around him. He opened it and was disturb to see a metal table with straps attached to it. Jonathan truly was a sick man, but another part of him was insulted. If Jonathan had taken him here, there would have been less chance of escape. Did he really think that he could handle the Riddler?
He scoffed before moving to the cabinet he had told him. He didn’t move quickly. He limped and grabbed. For some reason now, the hallucination had turned into his kitchen that had a counter in the center of it. Edward pressed his good hand towards his temple and squinted ever slightly. “This isn’t real,” he mumbled to himself. He kept taking in calming breaths because he noticed now that his focus wasn’t on Jonathan his heart beat had started to pick up again….or had it always been pounding this fast. He rested his hand on top of the cabinets for a moment before forcing himself to actually grab what he needed. He opened the cabinet, his eye darting to the two that he needed. He pulled them out. His eyes making sure the label was correct. Good, he hadn’t lied. Jonathan must appreciate his work. He then looked for a syringe. Of course in Jonathan’s apartment those are everywhere. He took it and quickly finished the steps. He tapped the syringe a few times before looking for a vein on his left arm to insert it.
He took a deep breath then pushed the needle into his arm. He closed his eyes as pushed the fluid in before pulling it back out. He laid the syringe back on the counter then held his weight up. He felt his heartbeat starting to calm and his breathing begin to relax. He didn’t feel as jittery and panic. He felt like he had more control. He then opened his eyes and was welcome with one image not two.
It was over, for now at least.
He pushed himself off the counter and moved back outside the room. His eyes darted to the door across the way, making sure it was still locked. He touched the doorknob, and it didn’t move. He smirked. Good, he didn’t want Jonathan popping out from somewhere and drugging him again.
He went to living area and noted his stuff on the ground. He threw on his shirt, not taking time to button it before he threw on his jacket. It was wet, but he didn’t care at this point. He noted the rain had stopped. One benefit that seemed to grace him tonight. He stuffed his tie into his pocket and grabbed his cane that he now realized had been used to knock him.
Edward frowned at that thought, but put it under his arm none the less. He couldn’t use it properly with his arm, so he limped out of the apartment then out of the building. He didn’t stop walking down the sidewalk until he found an old bench that hadn’t seen city money in years. It was still dark out, probably about two or three in the morning, and without a street lamp, he could safely note that no on could see him as he sat down.
It felt like the wind had been taken from him. He had never felt so violated in his life. Jonathan now knew Edward’s deepest secrets. The ones that he kept so close to his walled off heart, and in the process of getting him, he had also proved that Edward could make mistakes. It hurt his pride and his ego. He bit his bottom lip in frustration. How could of this occurred? He had made a mistake at some point. Where? He buried his face into good hand. His mind darting back into the memories, but the only ones that flooded him were the ones of his past. The ones that he had manage to bury and suppress. His mother watching him as his father beat him close to death on many occasion. The fear he felt everyday as he opened the door to the house. His father sitting on the couch watching Nascar, and how Edward would try to quietly pass him. The feeling of being a failure and stupid when he knew he was so much more then that.
A tear slipped down his check, and another one followed it. Edward didn’t cry. He never cried. He had when he was young, but now, there was never a point where he would get so upset that his anger would turn to sadness. This was entirely different.
Jonathan had taken something from him tonight, and Edward would make sure that he got it back.
He would because Edward was a genius. He came into his fortunes at that age of twenty-two. He predicted the Financial Crisis. He matched wits with the Batman. He was the Riddler. He confirmed it with himself before wiping the tears from his face with his sleeve and forcing himself to smirk.
It was then that he felt his phone in his jacket vibrate. He pulled it out and saw that he had five missed calls and two text. The newest one stating, ‘Boss, where are ya?’
Ah, so Allen and Robby had managed to escape Batman as well.
Pick me up, he typed quickly into the phone before stating his location. He then reached into his pocket and pulled out a lollipop.
Jonathan, you have no idea what you have just gotten yourself into.
(ooc: Couldn't stop myself from posting lol)
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Jonathan Crane - Scarecrow
"and at the end of fear...Oblivion"
Player: Jon ~
Registered On: Feb 15, 2012 20:39:14 GMT -5 ~
Posts: 941
~ Relationship Status: Won't Say I'm In Love
~ Partner: Fear
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Post by Jonathan Crane - Scarecrow on Mar 2, 2012 18:39:14 GMT -5
The smile that kept quickly left with Nigma's harsh comment on his qualifications. His stare turned cold but he tried to hold his non hostile composure. They were the ones that were wrong, they were the ones that should have been locked up. Their rules, law, and boundaries. How can the study of the mind, such a tangent yet abstract object be confined to boundaries. He was a brilliant doctor, and they took it all from him.
It wasn't all a loss, it gave him an opportunity to expand his level of research even further than before. Now he could show the world what fear truly was. The comment was pushed to the back of his mind trying to forget that it was even said. Right now he needed to remain focused on how to get out of the situation he was in.
His eyes never left Nigma's even as he locked the door and proceeded to break it. He couldn't imagine why Nigma would lock him in unless he was not going to blow up the apartment. Though he may be wrong, he didn't want to put it passed him at the moment. Hearing his final statement before turning out the door he finally lowered his hands. 'Planning on coming to visit again Nigma?' It seemed he couldn't get enough of the Nightmare. If it was more fear he sought he could gladly provide.
A soft sigh escaped his lips feeling the blood running down his chin again. Being alone he could now at least inspect the damage without having to focus too deeply on The Riddler. Carefully his finger went to the bridge of his nose and ran along it from the base to the top. He winced in pain as he ran over a small indention. His nose wasn't quite in the place it should be, he didn't break it fully, but it did break. A mirror was needed, something that he didn't have in this room.
The bathroom was down the hall so the first order of business was to get out of this room. Dr. Crane walked to the broken table and set his mask down on the upright side of it. The door handle and lock was broken, it was going to take some force. He paused for a few moments thinking it over, his head was still pounding from the kick and the blood wasn't helping. He was probably giving himself the antidote and on his way out already, but Nigma wasn't his present concern.
His hand turned the doorknob slowly. It didn't budge he was going to have to break it off. Standing to the side he placed his back against the wall for support and gave a swift kick to the door handle. Taking a break he kicked it once more and it went flying off into the floor along with the rest of the broken objects. Among one of those objects was his glasses, it was a shame he would have to get another pair. Thankfully his eyesight wasn't terrible, he was near sighted and only had some trouble seeing far away. Objects were usually just slightly blurred, but he could certainly function without them if needed.
Carefully he reached inside the doors mechanics and felt around to get an idea of exactly how it was locked. Satsified with exactly how it worked he reached for a capped needle on the ground. He slid it in slowly and jammed it into the part that connected to the lock with a hard pull. The door popped open with a bit of difficulty. The apartment was quiet, Nigma seemed to be gone.
He knew exactly what he wanted to do first. Going down the hall he proceeded to the bathroom. Slowly he opened the door and stepped in closing it behind him. He flipped on the light and sighed as he looked into the mirror. Grabbing a cloth from the side of the sink he began to wash his face with some warm water. Now for the painful part, He wrapped the towel slowly into a long spiral and placed it between his teeth. Bracing himself he inhaled swiftly and cracked his nose back into place. He didn't have to move it far but it was far enough. The pressure on his jaw tightened, he closed his eyes tightly and moaned a bit trying to catch his breath. The pain subsided slightly.
He removed the cloth from his teeth and began to clean his face again. It would heal, but it would take time. He was beginning to believe he should have hit Nigma just a little bit harder with the cane.
Leaving the bathroom he checked the containment room to see if anyone was still in there. It was clear and he shut the door heading back into his lab. Nothing appeared to be missing, it seemed The Riddler just head a bad night and wanted to go home. He smiled feeling real victory in how the night played out. All that Nigma was, was his now.
But for right now something else took his interest. Moving to the closest lab table he moved a few papers around. He found a pen and flipped one of the papers over beginning to write furiously sets of equations that had come to mind while he was speaking to Nigma earlier.. It was just a theory, it would take so much time and so much testing. Could it work?
The Riddler's threat still came to mind as he wrote. A smile escaped his lips. It had been a long time since he had someone resist his toxin. The feeling of satisfaction came from the fear that he instilled into his mind. "The Riddler's may have awoken from the nightmare, but his fears of The Scarecrow have only begun"
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