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 May 24, 2012 15:25:11 GMT -5
Of course he would have soaked in whatever fear he could get from Dr. Arkham. He wanted it, he searched for it. There were few that could give him that kind of satisfaction from seeing terror or misery in their eyes, but Dr. Arkham was one of those few that he longed to draw it from. It was clear however, from observation that he wasn’t afraid of him, which was part of the reason why he walked to this side of the table.
His mind darkened as he thought of everything that was now in just a bit more than an arm’s length. The thought of just wrapping his fingers around his throat and not stopping until his neck snapped was so tempting, but it wouldn’t be satisfying. It was just an illusion of satisfaction in the thought of knowing the man that was in part responsible for his career change had faced and fallen into oblivion.
Oblivion wasn’t good enough for Dr. Arkham however. His mind rushed through the various ways that he ‘would’ make him suffer eventually. This was so personal; it was something that Dr. Crane would have loved to make him suffer in front of his own family for. The problem of course being that he didn’t have any family. It was just going to take careful planning and time to find just the right thing for his perfect moment of glory. As of right now, all that kept happening was he would eventually end up back in these walls, on the wrong side of the cell…staring at this man.
Dr. Crane kept searching for some kind of anxiety in the man as he stood there, so close to him. He wondered how many orderly’s it would take to pull him off of him and make him release his grip. It would be unlike Dr. Arkham to be unprepared for such a thing, if he was smart there was many on hand just in case. Though something told him that he could handle himself just fine against him, and was probably far too stubborn to ask for help. All of these were just dark thoughts in his mind however. His posture remained loose, his head tilted slightly to the other side as he couldn’t get a reaction out of Dr. Arkham from the present distance.
Instead of acting upon his dark thoughts…he simply listened to the infuriating man. How dare he sit in the presence of fear itself with that smug satisfied grin on his face? “I’m glad we can find something we agree on doctor…” He spoke out in response to his blatant disregard to Dr. Crane actually referring to Dr. Arkham being the one screaming. “It’s a shame…” He paused for a moment bringing the recorder to his own Jawline. “You have such an abundant supply of research subjects yet you know how to handle so little of them…” He smiled obviously referring to himself. How many times had he escaped now without giving Arkham information?
“Tell me doctor….”His eyes looked glossed over with contempt. “How many sessions has it been?...Do you think you have me figured out?” He smiled at the all too familiar saying. His file was a mile thick but it still had no documentation of his life before Gotham. That would all have to be pried out of him, and so far none had done it successfully. In fact the closest that Dr. Arkham had come was with that single word….
“I don’t blame you….I’m sure you would agree, it’s best to leave the past buried in the dark.” With the last word rolling off his tongue he stepped back and lifted his arm, aiming and throwing the recorder in his hand at the light in the room. Darkness flooded the room, exactly how Dr. Crane liked it, he lived and dwelled in it. His only regret was not being able to see Arkham’s face….but he would feel any anxiety that came…he was sure of it. The glass from the light fell making him raise his arm to protect his eyes. Taking a few steps backward he wanted to make sure that he wasn’t in the same place that Dr. Arkham had previously seen him in.
Would he call for help? Would security be rushing here already?...The thought only made his unstable smile widen in the dark.
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Jeremiah Arkham - Black Mask
"All my life... I have been dancing on the edge of madness."
Player: Jere ~
Registered On: Mar 26, 2012 22:05:58 GMT -5 ~
Posts: 314
~ Relationship Status: The More the Merrier
~ Character Profile
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Post by Jeremiah Arkham - Black Mask on Jun 2, 2012 1:22:50 GMT -5
Jeremiah knew that Jonathan held a vendetta against his, one not defined by the he thought Jeremiah incompetent or whatever opinion crossed the man’s mind about the majority of the doctors that roamed the corridors. Jonathan’s grudge with Arkham was personal and the man knew it. The younger despised him, thinking him responsible for his downfall, and it was an observation Arkham only felt offense towards, but petulant to an extraordinary extreme. Had he not hired Crane after the mess at Gotham University, knowing full well that Jonathan was guilty and possibly dangerous? Yes. In fact, Jeremiah had known of Crane’s experiments with the patients. It was his Asylum after all. As much was Batman considered himself guardian of Gotham, Arkham was Warden of the Elizabeth of Arkham Asylum and he kept tabs on all his doctors. He had done nothing to steer Jonathan away from his experiments, had offer him little visible assistance, but in his own, Arkham couldn’t deny having no hand in helping Jonathan, not that he thought Jonathan realized it. It was also possible that he refused to acknowledge it, but Jeremiah had been the one to convince judges, juries, lawyers to allow the criminals that Jonathan had ended up using. He was head, after all, he assigned the doctors their patients.
Had Jonathan expected Arkham to defend him? He could and had scoffed at that notion. Jeremiah had an Asylum to run, a reputation to keep, and his own secrets to keep buried. He had not the time, nor would it have been profitable towards him. Yet Jeremiah had done what he could for the man and still keep his own interests in mind. He had denied knowledge of the experiments and had praised Jonathan’s skills as a boss should. It looked good for the camera, but the man had done nothing further save OR damn his young employee. He had no even testified against him. He hadn’t been called as a witness for Defense or Prosecution. He gave thanks to bribery and corruption for that.
To place the phrase more simply, Jeremiah found Jonathan’s grudge against him infantile, but Jeremiah could care less at rimes about the opinion of a man who had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Jonathan could blame him all he wished but was Jonathan’s actions and his alone that had gotten him discovered. And for that Jeremiah felt little remorse towards him and his dissatisfaction towards his fate.
What had Jeremiah to fear from a man who was so obvious that even Batman could predict him? The answer was nothing. Sure Jeremiah feared what Jonathan could do; he was intelligent, powerful, which garnered the man an ounce of some respect. Yet he was also young, still rash in Jeremiah’s eyes, and that’s what Jeremiah loved to prove. What Jeremiah did do was enjoy pushing his buttons, taking advantage of the hatred he knew was held towards him. Didn’t Jonathan understand the concept of keeping your enemies closer? And Jonathan’s hatred towards him amused him to no end, it was a weakness, a wound he could pick at and pick at. On the same token Jeremiah could be seen as rather boyish doing such a thing, but with it revealed and known, how he could not take such an opportunity?
If Jonathan was infuriated by his grin already, he must not have felt any better as the expression did not change as he spoke. He simply continued to lounge in his chair and though his glee grew at Jonathan’s assumption that he couldn’t handle his patients, his mouth didn’t even twitch into a wider smirk, but his eyes filled with that heightened urge to laugh. Was he not handling him now? And whoever said Jeremiah wanted them to remain, wanted to force information out of them? His observations, his manipulations to instead coerce what he wished from them worked so much better. He knew far more about Jonathan than the man knew notes that never went into his files and why? Because why would Jeremiah do such a thing, when it was so much easier to keep him in the dark, pace his time until he was ready to reveal what he knew?
Jeremiah’s lips did, however, crawl slightly more upward at the question of whether he had Jonathan figured out. Did he? What fun would it be to reveal such a secret? Better to keep him guessing, leave him wonder; let him think that Jeremiah did not. And it was true that Jeremiah did not have documentation of the man’s life before Gotham, but he saw the aftermath and call him an optimist, but the past had an uncanny way of always coming back when least expected and Jeremiah already knew he’d cracked something with the word that had garnered such a strong reaction. He wouldn’t press that luck, however, Jonathan would freeze up and he couldn’t have that.
When Jeremiah did finally move, it was to adjust his glasses and leaned forward as Jonathan posed his last, rhetorical question. Replies on his lips, Dr. Arkham was prepared to answer his questions and more, but he jumped forward on instinct at Jonathan’s move. He knew he wouldn’t be able to stop the careening of the tape recorder into the light, but his reaction was bolt from his chair. Yet that immediately became shielding his face as glass splintered and rained down. He cursed, and almost missed the crunch of glass underfoot as Jonathan moved.
Jeremiah glared into the pitch darkness. If there was one place he would not be, it was in a dark room with Jonathan Crane. This was his territory and Jeremiah was not in the mood to play this game with him. Jeremiah did not lie to himself, he should be afraid of this situation, and he was. Yet he was not the owner and head of the Asylum just in name, he had a level-head and it was the ability to accept his fear and yet think about his next move that set him apart, he believed, from most of his staff. Besides, these were the situations on which Jeremiah thrived. He reached into his pocket and then there was light. Jeremiah held in his hands an average-sized, metallic flashlight. He aimed it at the glass on the floor, but then trailed it back across the floor to his chair. For all purposes it appeared he was just find his way back to the object, but he wasn’t doing simply that. He was also making sure Crane wasn’t behind his chair. He would not put such an act beyond him.
“You know, I’ve already replaced one tape recorder,” he sighed as he fell back into his seat and perched the flashlight on the table so that it aimed its light towards the ceiling. He inspected the damage to the light. “I hope I don’t have to make it two, but I don’t highly foresee it coming out alive after chucking it at a light.” He smoothed his lab coat and picked up the flashlight again. He rolled it between his fingers instead of flashing it about the room to find where Jonathan had really gone.
“Do you like the dark better?” He pursed his lips in thought. “You don’t have to answer that, I should have known that. You should have said something before. I would have obliged you, besides, I’ve been itching to use my new flashlight. It’s steel you know.” Which meant it could be used as a weapon and if Jeremiah was truly honest with Jonathan, he’d been yearning to cave someone’s skull in with it or work at breaking a limb. It could be done with enough force, he knew that. He glanced around in the darkness. “But back to subject, you wished to know if I had figured you out. You asked me several questions, made several assumptions, but that particular one stood out.” He ran a finger along his lips. “Have I figured you out? Have you figured me out, Jonathan? I think that’s a better question. Have you figured out what particular fears motivate me? What haunts my sleep at night? Have you figured out that’s not you. I will never be afraid of you Jonathan, I am so far removed from fear of you. That in truth is why I’m your doctor because out of all that I could be frightened of, I am not terrified of you.” He slumped forward, elbows on his thighs and flashlight dangling from his fingers, swing to cast light in long lines across the floor. “Also you question my ability to control my patients, but you cannot control one man, either. So many plans, so many theories and yet Batman always catches you. You are no more in control than you believe me to be."
He smirked. “I believe I hear the sound of a pot calling a kettle. Familiar with that phrase, Dr. Crane?” He looked up and his eyes caught the gleam of the flashlight.
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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 Jun 6, 2012 15:51:04 GMT -5
Everything set aside, his toxins and his reputation. Dr. Crane was defined by his lack of emotion, the dead cold stare that challenged anyone who dared to cross its path. It made him unpredictable; it made him frightening to others because they couldn’t determine what he was thinking or what he was going to do. The emotionally withdrawn Dr. Crane was up for debate with most doctors, while he worked and while he was a patient. He had heard their whispers, and he had read his file before, more than once. Even while he was working here his stability had been questioned. After the incident at Gotham University there was much speculation over whether he was mentally fit to work there.
Dr. Crane never argued with other doctors at the Asylum when he worked there, he didn’t care enough to. The only one that he managed to have the occasional at-odd’s-end with was Dr. Arkham. In fact he avoided most of them like they were an infectious plague most of the time. There was no reason to ever listen to the other doctors or get their opinion on a patient, they were all incompetent. Such poor staff Dr. Arkham had hired, as far as Dr. Crane was concerned, his presence was the best thing to ever happen to that Asylum. The only member of the staff that was somewhat tolerable was Dr. Arkham and only then it was at an employee to boss level. Dr. Crane was always too involved with his work, he had little time to get to know anyone, or care to at all, Dr. Arkham was no exception for this at the time.
There was always speculation on Dr. Crane’s work at the Asylum. The other doctors and orderlies would whisper whether he was actually helping his patients at all or at least following procedure of what he needed to do. Regardless they believed he was doing something right because his overwhelming amount of success in his progress there. It was only what they saw on the outside however, perfect detailed reports, never late with his work, long hours on the clock. It was almost like he lived and breathed it, and he did. All the other staff knew was that he must have been doing something right to earn his own wing of the building to oversee. Dr. Arkham must have liked him to a certain degree or approved of his work. Dr. Crane did care how they saw it though, he worked with Dr. Arkham closely, and he knew him quite well from observation. There was a mutual understanding that never needed to be spoken. As much as he claimed to the media that it was a surprise he knew that it wasn’t. Dr. Arkham knew exactly what he was doing.
Dr. Crane’s talents with handling his patients and the court room quickly raised him to fame at the Asylum, despite that Dr. Arkham had quite a hand in a lot of his successes. It was nothing that he believed or outwardly would admit. Right where he was standing was right where he belonged at that point, and he had earned every moment of it. Dr. Arkham knew what he was getting into the moment he had hired him after the Gotham University incident. That case had worked in his favor a lot, mostly because the students were too afraid to come forward, and the boy that was shot dropped all charges. The only ones that had anything against him was the school board itself. He got off scott free in court, claimed it as an accident, but the school board wasn’t so forgiving of his shameless crimes. Remembering the day he was hired by Dr. Arkham, it only took one look to realize that he knew it was no accident.
Trust wasn’t a governing factor in his life. There was no such thing as trust, trust was a secondary feeling that only existed because man gave it a word. It went far deeper than that, but as for finding trust in others, it was Foreign for Dr. Crane. He didn’t trust anyone at the Asylum with his secrets, let alone Dr. Arkham. That is why he worked in secret, kept his reports and files to himself, only occasionally turning in something necessary or something that Dr. Arkham had asked for. The way he operated was slow at first but over time began to grow and expand, especially after he was handed his own wing. There he was able to work alone and undisturbed. So what had went wrong? Why did all of this which seemed like a normal employee-boss relationship turn so suddenly into nothing but pure hatred and rage for even the mention of his name?
Dr. Crane moved silently in the dark from where he was standing as his mind poured out into the darkness around him. Silently, to himself, he recalled the exact point when fury had hit him for the first time for Dr. Arkham.
It was a normal day like any other; Dr. Crane had been experimenting with his toxin he had created just a short time ago. It was the most perfect thing he had ever seen, such a light into the world. He had been using it on his patients extensively, trying out new formulas or new ways to influence their reactions due to dosage. After this many tries he had already come to determine that enough of it would be lethal, and a high enough dosage would have irreversible damage. Dr. Crane was just cleaning up, he had disposed of the body, it was an unfortunate accident. The patient had gotten ahold of the scalpel and stabbed himself in the liver with it. Dr. Crane had tried to stop him, but he was still just learning about all the things people would do without restraints. This man couldn’t get his mind off of the fact that tentacled creatures of the sea weren’t all over him. In an effort to get one of them off in his illusion, he had stabbed himself. He was going to have to start strapping most of them down, or putting them in jackets, what good was his research if the patient was dead?
Going over to the sink he observed himself by looking down. There was blood all over him, it soaked his hands, smeared across his face, and his lab coat was stained across the sleeves and the rim near his feet. Needless to say it was everywhere and he was going to have to get rid of all of it before he left the room again. It had been some time since he had disposed of the patient and more people would be walking in his wing at this time. He turned the water on and waited for it to get hot, grabbing the soap from the side and preparing to wash his arms off. Suddenly the door flew open from behind. Dr. Crane spun around on his heels a bit confused, the only other that should have had the clearance to open a locked door in his wing was Dr. Arkham! He had barely taken note of who walked in, they charged him quickly. Dr. Crane resisted at first as two large men grabbed him by both arms. His feet came off the floor and he kicked suddenly, shouting in protest. He didn’t quite know what was going on until another had arrived, simply stepping into the room and beginning to speak. It was then he realized what was going on. His eyes bore into the police officers; they had come to arrest him. “Dr. Jonathan Crane We have a warrant for your arrest on suspected cruel and unusual punishment, suspected illegal medical practice, and suspected Murder. You have the right to remain silent, everything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to speak to an attorney, and to have one present at any questioning. If you cannot afford a lawyer one will be provided for you. Do you understand your rights?”
The police officers voice echoed through his mind. What a ridiculous question…Dr. Crane tried to struggle out of their grip not liking being touched especially in such an aggressive manner. They didn’t tolerate it for very long however. Turning him around to the stainless steel counter top they slammed his chest down over it. Dr. Crane let out a groan as his body had hit it roughly, knocking the wind out of him. Then they proceeded to handcuff him, making them overly tight. The police officer barked at him again “Do you understand!?” Slowly from the counter he was raised up, not psychically fighting anymore. He was turned by the brutish officers so he could face their superior again. “Yes…” Dr. Crane said through a tightened jaw. With that he was pushed harshly forward. Stumbling some he walked with them out of the room. Many doctors and orderlies were crowded around outside of the room like vultures, trying to get their share of what was happening. He was turned to walk toward the exit of the building. It was then that Dr. Crane had caught a glimpse of Dr. Arkham standing in the background down the hall. Locking eyes with him as he was pulled away, Dr. Arkham turned and he saw it, the smirk that played into his expression as Dr. Crane was dragged by them…
“You!” Dr. Crane spoke with some power behind his voice though it wasn’t enough to go over the rise of voices that was coming from the halls. That smirk…Maybe it was just a misunderstanding? Maybe he had imagined it all together? Perhaps this was Dr. Arkham’s last sick way of getting a kick from him. Whatever it might have been all Dr. Crane knew was that he was suddenly fueled with an intense fury that had never been seen in him before. At first it was just enough to lift his feet from the ground as the two officers Held tight to his arms, escorting him out. Dr,. Crane pulled to the side, he was going to kill him, he was going to suffer, and he deserved to suffer! None of the incompetent scum of Gotham understood, they couldn’t see passed the veils they had created for themselves and embrace the truth. His research was vital, it was more important than what any of these doctors were doing at this God forsaken place. Dr. Crane dropped the emotion as they came to the exit of the asylum only to be met with a flood of flashes from the cameras and a storm of reporters being held at bay by the police. He kept his head down as they walked to the police car, bent his head down, and placed him inside.
Through the darkness Dr. Crane’s hand pulled into a fist as his mind recalled the events that happened what seemed so long ago. Did he hold a grudge against this man? If it could be called that he supposed that he did. He could have gotten away with that trial; he would have gotten away scott free like he did at Gotham University if only there wasn’t so much evidence brought against him. It didn’t help that he was covered in blood with a patient missing when they came to make the arrest. He was caught red handed…but that didn’t stop him from placing the blame on Dr. Arkham. It wasn’t the only reason why his hatred for him was so passionate and strong, but it was the match that lit the fuel.
Dr. Crane kept his silence as Dr. Arkham shuffled about, bringing out a source of light to check the damage. He wasn’t going to respond to his grumbles about the need to replace yet another recorder; by the end of this session he’d need to replace two more that much he could count on. His first mistake was not calling for help; it would have been the smart thing to do, being alone in the dark with Dr. Jonathan Crane. What he really should have been worried about was finding out where he was in the dark, instead he just gave him free roam to be wherever he wished. He smiled through the darkness as the light went to behind his chair….a bit of anxiety?...
Dr. Crane didn’t say a word, but simply listened to the man go on about what he thought he knew and more questions that found no answers. Not that there wasn’t any truth to his words, finding Dr. Arkham always behind the safety of the glass and these wall of the Aslyum it was difficult to get to him the way he wanted to. His day was coming, where he would reveal everything that he feared to him and there would be nothing left for him or each out to except the sweet embrace of oblivion. He wasn’t afraid of him? The words made him tilted his head within the dark, not a very smart answer. It was a ridiculous notion…of course he was afraid.
It was only when he mentioned The Batman was Dr. Crane finally tempted to speak at all. “The Batman…” He whispered out softly still in front of Dr. Arkham but with a good distance away. He kept pacing in the dark, not wanting to stand still for him. The steel flashlight piercing through the dark, he made sure to stay out of its path though nothing would be able to stop Dr. Arkham from finding him. Why wasn’t he trying? So many Professional Criminals had an obsession with The Batman Dr. Crane would never understand it, he was just another vigilante….one that was quite intelligent and quite skilled…but just another man thinking he was led by a misguided cause. Plans didn’t always go as well as he meant them to, and things change rather quickly. The Batman would catch him one night and another he would slip away. “The difference…doctor…is that I am always in control, even if things don’t go as planned….After all…I break out of your control every time..” Dr. Crane laughed out through the dark now falling into silence and moving across the room.
He refused to answer Dr. Arkham’s last question, he knew who was to blame, and there wasn’t anything he could do to change that now. Waiting for the light to swing in a different direction His hand slid onto the table and felt for a piece of glass from the light. Through the silence of the room the shuffling through it could be heard, probably cutting his hand in the process. Right now it didn’t matter to him; there was only one thing he wanted. Dragging the glass slowly off the table he watched the flashlight turn to Dr. Arkham’s face. As if it wasn’t easy enough to determine his foe’s position….
Having a big enough pieces between his fingers Dr. Crane slowly came around the table keeping toward the wall to help silence his steps. He moved slowly, until he crept up right behind Dr. Arkham."Our time is up..." With a flash of his wrists he attempted to swing out his arms and bring the glass right under his jaw, to his neck, and against his pulse.
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Jeremiah Arkham - Black Mask
"All my life... I have been dancing on the edge of madness."
Player: Jere ~
Registered On: Mar 26, 2012 22:05:58 GMT -5 ~
Posts: 314
~ Relationship Status: The More the Merrier
~ Character Profile
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Post by Jeremiah Arkham - Black Mask on Jun 22, 2012 17:25:06 GMT -5
Jeremiah remembered the day of Jonathan’s arrest just as stridently as the other doctor did. It was one of those moments among the many that made up Arkham Asylum’s lurid, but enthralling history, which never failed be built just as much of blood and screams as it did of brick and mortar. Yet in the darkness of the session room counting down the moments until Jonathan’s attack Jeremiah could have recalled that day and what had befallen during and after that singular event.
For him the day, as well, began as it always did. Dr. Arkham had brewed his homemade coffee, had a light breakfast, and made the drive to work as he did every morning. The only difference—one that had been routine for a few months—was that he arrived earlier for work so as to greet the doctor, Melina Graves as she arrived at work herself. He had been dating his colleague for several years, that was perhaps no secret at the least those in the Asylum knew they were close friends, but he had asked her marry him several months prior, and thus was at the time a fiancée in addition to his other titles. He had met her as she exited her car, gave her a chaste, but affectionate kiss before promising a dinner out that night; and then they had parted ways. He had gone to open his office and thus his schedule for the day and to attend to her duties in the Medical Facility. That was before he had to start removing his wedding band.
Jeremiah had gotten his timetable divided for the day and was in the midst of checking his mid-morning messages when the police had come with their warrant of arrest for one Doctor Jonathan Crane. He had had no choice but to give them access to Crane’s private wing, a façade of perfect bemusement and shock in his voice and face as he found the keys and led them from his office.
He had listened, not truly interested in their accusations, though he knew without doubt their charges were true, as he brought them to the wing and unlocked the door to give them full access. Then he was back in his office, only emerging when the commotion had gotten the attention of the doctors in the offices surrounding his. He could have watched grim-faced as Jonathan was dragged out, disappointed in his discovery, mind already whirling in how to handle the inevitable lash that would be coming: radio, local news, newspapers, but just as Jonathan was brought into his line of sight he someone that churned his mind violently from care of the wave of bad press Arkham Asylum was soon to receive.
Dr. Kirkland, early thirties, balding watched the younger doctor’s career thrown away, just as Crane was to be locked up literally soon. His expression stirred Arkham, instinct calling. Kirkland, who had always been envious of Crane and had rather raucously questioned Arkham’s judgment on allowing him his own wing, knew why this had happened and all of it was evident from the smirk that graced the doctor’s lips. So Arkham had found the rat. In that moment, Jeremiah let his own malevolence bleed into his face and he too grinned, mind ablaze with the suffering would bring to the man who had brought the police into his asylum to drag away such a bright mind, and mind Jeremiah was certain could and did understand on the same level as him and one that could offer him even more insight. Arkham in his smirking was blissfully unaware that Jonathan had caught the expression and thought it aimed to him.
It was a grudge, easily cast aside then, if one would have told the other the reasons for his hatred or if the hated would request the reasons. Jeremiah was uncertain, however, if Jonathan would honestly tell him and he wasn’t sure what would happen if their antagonism disappeared, but any rumination on that was forgotten at the tone of Jonathan’s voice. Jeremiah’s body shifted as the murmur came to him, coming to full attention of his surroundings. His eyes searched the darkness and his flashlight panned the place. Of course Jonathan evaded the mean of light. “Control, you think you have it? Maybe you do, but you’re wrong. You have broken out of the Asylum’s grasp, your other doctors’ grasps, but never mine. You are good, though. You know when to escape: when I’m not here.” He answered the man’s laugh with a smirk of his own and a soft chuckle, a sound not loud enough to drown out Jonathan’s footsteps or the scrape of glass on the table.
Jeremiah took a breath, slow, counting the seconds in his mind, and judging where the attack would come from. He only had one shot at this, one chance. He bolted from the chair and launched his hand towards his throat as his flashlight slipped from his fingers and crashed to the floor. Jonathan’s hand was caught in the light as it plummeted. Jeremiah snatched the wrist of the palm wielding the glass. It didn’t come without consequence, though. The broken shard slashed into the flesh of his cheek and jaw, leaving a deep gash. Jeremiah immediately felt the warm blood pool to the surface and overflow as well as the sting that accompanied it. Yet the hiss that escaped his lips was drowned as he used Jonathan’s own momentum to bring the lank man over the rickety chair and onto the table. In the darkness Arkham did not move, waiting for whatever attack would succeed his counter, but it was only seconds of his deep, pain riddled breaths before the door to the session room flew open.
Five orderlies rushed into the room, one holding a flashlight, and one toting a straightjacket.
“Jesus, Doctor Arkham,” the one with the light exclaimed coming the doctor’s side as he pulled away from Jonathan. The other four, including the one with the jacket, advanced towards Jonathan. “We saw the light go out. Came as fast as we could.”
Jeremiah nodded, leaning down to grab his own flashlight and once it was back in his pocket he pulled out a handkerchief from the same pocket. He held it to his cheek to staunch the blood from the slice in his skin as three of the orderlies that had rushed Jonathan, now launched at him to subdue him enough for the other to get him into the straightjacket.
“You should go to the Medical Bay.” Arkham nodded at the orderly’s advice. “I plan to. Take him back to his cell.” He gestured with his free hand to Jonathan, face set in a grimace. The orderly stared from Jonathan amongst the scuffle back to Arkham. “Not solitary, doctor?”
Jeremiah shook his head. “I have him opportunity,” he admitted in a gruff tone. “This is my fault. So no, just get him in the jacket and transport him to his cell. You can remove it before mealtime if he behaves.” He took a step towards Jonathan’s direction. “Crane, I’m not like your other doctors. Yours and my time, it’s just beginning.” He told him, eyes hard, but mouth pulling into a friendly smile before the movement caused pain to sear across his cheek.
He turned on his heel to exit the room. “Get someone to clean up the glass and replace the bulb.” Were his departing words because the orderlies had it under control now.
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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 Jun 29, 2012 20:50:24 GMT -5
Dr. Crane didn’t get a lot of slack in the court room immediately. The trials were long, tiring, and bothersome to sit in a room with so many incompetent people. They were all just incapable of understanding the importance behind his work. At first he had chosen to represent himself in court, but behind closed doors he was pleaded with enough to reluctantly change his mind. They had convinced him that the judge was not going to see his point of view, which was correct, he never would. If he were to go through with representing himself it would have meant the death penalty. Even though he knew he couldn’t die, death row didn’t seem like a paradise.
In the court room many of the families of his suspected victims sat behind him. He knew as he passed, locked in the chains the shackled his wrists down to his feet. The officer gripped the middle chain tightly from behind and walked him through their eyes as they silently judged him before the trail had even began. His eyes spared them no glance, looking straight ahead at the empty space where he would face his condemnation. When he was finally placed behind the stand everyone rose for the judge and took their seats. The judge and jury had already made their choices when they sat down, the ‘so called’ allegations against him were strong. Dr. Crane remained silent and kept his composure through most of the trial as his lawyer attempted to convince them that he was unstable.
There was no one that came in defense of Dr. Crane, not that he expected anyone too. There was only one doctor that made an appearance from the Asylum. They were all afraid of him. The entire time in the courtroom, he had never removed his gaze from the judges. His features became annoyed at first when he had noticed. Dr. Crane never changed his composure, never changing his expression or his poise. He simply kept a dark silence within the courtroom and an unbreakable stare into the judge’s soul. The representative from Arkham Asylum stood and took the floor; he made the bold claim that Dr. Jonathan Crane would be best held in Arkham Asylum itself. Dr. Crane listened to the words in disbelief. Dr. Arkham must have had a hand in this! He was sure of it. While the man spoke his eyes remained on the judge, searching through him for his reactions on the claim. Surely he wouldn’t go through with this…this wasn’t where he was going to be sent.
Dr. Crane’s thoughts could only become darker with each word that the young doctor said. Explaining why he wasn’t fit to be placed into a prison of any kind, he was clearly a danger to himself and others. The words stung, the smallest amount of contempt flashing into his eyes. This was truly from the desk of Dr. Arkham himself; there was no doubt in his mind now. First he had him ripped from the asylum, now he planned to throw him back into its clutches. For the first time his gaze was finally torn from the judges. Slowly he turned his head so he could look into the young man’s profile as he continued to feed Dr. Arkham’s opinions into his judge and jury’s minds. Finally Dr. Crane parted his lips to speak breaking his silence for the first time. “Is he scared?” He asked in a low monotone voice. The court might have not known who or what he was referring to, but the doctor might know. The young doctor seemed a bit taken back by the sudden interruption. His fingers stammered about the page he was reading from, his posture changed to one side and he seemed to have lost his place.
How unfortunate….You sent someone so weak to do your work…
With the anxiety that was now present in the young doctors features the judge finally took over, banging his gavel to get Dr. Crane’s attention away from him. The representative thanked the court in a shaken voice and sat down. His attention did indeed go back to the judges, their eyes meeting once again. This time the judge was rather upset with his interruption. He scolded him on it and then proceeded to say he was ready to rule on the case. The oxygen seemed to leave the room, everything became very still as everyone waited on the edge of their seat to see what would happen. The judge gave his first ruling; it was then that a flood of anger finally pulled into his eyes. He was to be stripped of his licenses, degrees and all titles that he had earned. Out of all the damage that Dr. Arkham could have caused, this was probably the one that pierced the most. Silently he took his punishment as it was written into record and the judge sentenced him to be committed to Arkham Asylum.
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All of the rage from that day had festered and grown into so much more for Dr. Arkham. He had yet to see the true nightmare within him. All of the control that Dr. Arkham thought he had? It was going to be taken now. In the intensity of the moment the thought of ending him there had certainly crossed his mind, the thought crossed his mind more than once every day. The thought burrowed into his mind every time he saw the man. The ever so alluring temptation to drag him to the edge of oblivion and let him drop into its depths.
Just as he thought he had him in the darkness his wrist was caught. He felt the shard in his hand meet resistance as it cut through his flesh, judging from the height it was probably his face. He barely had time to register the action before he was being pulled forward and over. His back hit the table with a hard thud causing the wind to immediately knock out of him. Dr. Crane struggled and gasped to air for a moment, lurching forward on the table. Just as he got air back into his lungs the door flew open and light flooded into the room, chasing away the darkness that embraced him.
Dr. Crane lunged forward on the table to grab Dr. Arkham. He was finally going to have him. Just before his fingers could reach, a pressure came onto his shoulders. He watched the image of his fingers pull further and further away from the bleeding doctor. Suddenly he was slammed back against the table again. Two held him by the shoulders as he thrashed about wildly on the table. His arms clawed at the desk they were held firmly against, his feet kicked out wildly, trying to gain some momentum to push them off. All the while he kept Dr. Arkham in his blood lusted gaze. The third orderly with the jacket finally came over him and the three got it on him. Despite the now conforming jacket he still continued in his rage. Nothing was going to stop him, Nothing!
Dr. Arkham had turned to the door and left, and thankfully they were quick to follow. This part Dr. Crane didn’t mind at all. In fact he rushed toward the door causing the tow orderlies to again hold him at bay. They linked their arms into the curl of his own and began dragging him in the opposite direction. In the short distance ahead of him he could see the man that ruined him walking away. His feet came off the floor as they pulled and held him the doctor began screaming into the air. “I AM THE ARBITER OF TERROR! THE ALMIGHTY GOD OF FEAR! FALL TO YOUR KNEES AND SCREAM BEFORE THE LORD OF FRIGHT! I AM THE NIGHTMARE THAT WILL STALK YOUR WAKING DREAM AND STALK I SHALL! YOU WILL BE HUNTED BY THE DEMON HERE! THERE WILL BE NOTHING LEFT OF YOU BUT YOUR DESPAIR!!” The words echoed into the halls as he was pulled away, all cast toward the man that brought him to this fit of rage.
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