Fear The Bigger Fish [Scourge, VerMillion]

[Jonathan Crane - Scarecrow]

It was an unusually quiet night as VerMillion and Dr. Crane walked the streets of East Gotham. Tonight he was in search of another research subject he could bring back to the lab. They had been silently stalking a sing thug that they had stopped on a corner about a mile back. When he turned away he looked as if he was headed to a specific location, so they followed with some distance given behind.

The thug was quite built, but it didn’t matter to Dr. Crane, he would be able to handle him. All he had to wait for was for the man to turn inside a building. Keeping pace with him they twisted and turned through the various alley ways, waiting for him to go inside somewhere. Most likely he was looking for a drug house or his place of residence, which was probably a run down, falling apart, and already condemned apartment building.

He looked to VerMillion as they walked for just a moment. She had been quiet, possibly not liking the part of town they were in. It was a fear that she would have to get over eventually. Outwardly however she seemed content, just rather clingy to the right side of his body. It was clear she didn’t want to go far from him, and in this neighborhood he wouldn’t force her to for very long. His attention turned back to the man that they were following, he slipped inside a building just a block away from them. It looked like a rundown apartment complex.

Dr. Crane quickened his pace down the sidewalk with VerMillion before they came to a stop in front of the building. Turning to look at her he placed his hands on her shoulders and walked her backward to the wall. “Stay here.” Dr. Crane spoke rather sternly to her but it was obviously for her safety. He couldn’t have her getting in his way while he was trying to do this, and since she was unable to physically help him, it would just end in disaster. “I’ll only be a moment” He assured her before turning and heading up the stairs into the building. There wasn’t much time for her to protest to his actions, nor were they heard as he followed the man inside.

[jokerforever]

As usual, the night wasn't completly black. In fact, the city lights wavered high within the vast, star barren sky. While the moon was still bright, it's companion stars were no where to be found. This was the usual sight of the city. A bright moon and no stars. The faint light that lit up the dark streets was easily enough for Scourge to see by as he walked along, watching the pair of anonymous beings walk on.

The teenager didn't know either of them, but if they were walking around this side of the street at such a late time of night then they must know how to handle themselves. Or they were just stupid. Either way, Scourge was wary. They wouldn't be here without reason and the man likely had a gun with him or some silly shit. After all, who didn't carry a gun around with them in Gotham at night? But then again, who was walking deserted streets in Gotham at night?

Perhaps his second theory had been correct, but suddenly it was the first that seemed all the more likely. These people were out for something and were obviously confident in their abilities to defend themselves, or atleast, one of them was. Scourge pressed his hands into the pockets of his black, stolen hoodie and slipped a small switchblade from the thick fabric into his fingers, pulling it free of the wool and flicking the blade free. His other hand remained tucked in his pocket as saphire eyes scanned the pair from the shadows far behind.

Suddenly, the man left the girl, a sense of urgency in his actions that suggested he was after something, or someone. Scourge smiled grimly. Leaving your girlfriend out in the dark of Gotham alone? Not a smart move. The teenage boy slipped closer on silent heels, careful not to kick up any loose gravel as he glided forth without a sound, sticking to the tremulous shadows to insure he wasn't spotted by the female. As he drew close enough as to where he could no longer hide, Scourge dropped his stealthy approach and walked into the open with a dark smile, the switchblade catching the low glint of a street light.

"A bit late to be out here without your boyfriend eh?" His smooth voice stretched toward the ears of the girl as Scourge slid closer, still maintaining his sturdy footing and uncanny silence as his long stride pulled him into the girl's grasp. "That's okay. Lucky for you, there are other guys out there just waiting for little ladies like you to slide free." Scourge gave a small chuckle and raised an arm to the hard wall, pinning the girl between him and it. The knife in his other hand came up to slide lightly across her throat, barely touching skin as Scourge threatened the girl in an attempt to keep her from resisting.

[Heather Glass - VerMillion]

As they walk along, Heather suppresses the urge to ask why she was brought along in the first place. Partly because she knows that it isn't like Jon plans out every detail of everything when he goes out, and going out to get a new 'test subject' could go any number of different ways - this time it's resulted in a very long walk through one of the worst parts of Gotham. Not that she minds area so much, at least not with Jon right next to her, but the walking is getting to her. She's not in the best of shape, though going with Jon on a number of such excursions is quickly remedying that. And she won't utter a word of complaint about it for fear that he'll actually decide that maybe she should be left back at the hideout more often - being there by herself is definitely even less fun than a long walk with Jon.

Finally the man they're following turns, and she inwardly breathes a sigh of relief - there was no telling how far they'd have to go, and at least the walk is ending before her energy gives out. Though when Jon tells her to stay put, she doesn't like the sound of that at all. "But..." she starts to protest, but she knows that arguing is probably useless and would only make it harder for Jon to catch up with the man that they were following, so she reluctantly adds, "...Okay, fine." Sure this is a bad part of the city, but she knows that Jon will be quick and what are the odds that something will happen in so short of a time?

Wrapping her arms around herself, she resolves to stay put and quiet until he returns, just in case someone does come near while she's waiting - she'd be a lot harder to notice. Of course, what she doesn't know is that she was already noticed even before Jon told her to stay there. She's not been in this world of criminals and rogues for very long, so her ability to sense people sneaking around is average at best. So she startles when a boy with a knife seems to suddenly appear out of the shadows.

"He's not..." she starts to say to his first question, but before she can react further he's already got her against the wall. Her eyes widen in fear, not really taking in his words as much as his actions. With the knife placed on her throat, and her own keen awareness of her ability to fight back - she's tried to work on it, but she'd be no match for this guy - her mind picks a different solution to this problem than fighting back. "JON!!!" she suddenly screams in the boy's face. Will it make him angry? Probably, but if she's signed her own death certificate by doing that, at least she's signed his too.

[Jonathan Crane - Scarecrow]

Dr. Crane had walked in, not immediately seeing the man he was previous following. He was going to have to search for him. The inside was falling apart, it was grim and uninviting…exactly how he liked it. Inside there were two separate hallways parallel from each other and a stairwell leading upward on either side of the walls. Dr. Crane peered down the halls for a moment to see if the man had gone down either of them. They looked clear, upstairs seemed like the most likely place.

From the back of his pants under his suit jacket he pulled out his mask and clicked the distortion on. The little green light popped on telling him it was alright to put it on. The fans started up and he placed it over his head. He didn’t bring his glove tonight being with VerMillion, using his needled glove came with a trade off, so he was very particular about when he wore it.

Slowly the Scarecrow began to make his way up the stairwell after his patient for the night. His hand gripped the banister so he could keep his footsteps silent, though he couldn’t stop the small creaks that came from each step. The thought had crossed his mind that he needed to be quick, VerMillion was still outside, and she was alone on the Eastern part of Gotham. It would be easy prey for someone to just come and snatch her up. He shook the thought away, she would be alright, he was just inside after all.

Getting to the top of the stairs he began to make his was down the hallway. He could hear various noises coming from a room on the left. The Scarecrow silently moved to the wall and made himself ready to open the door and catch his patient. His head shot to the side as a noise came from below. It was VerMillion she had screamed his name. Turning from the door and lifting himself from the wall his legs barreled him toward the stairwell at full speed. Instead of choosing either side to go down, the Scarecrow dove over the banister to into a rolling position as he hit the floor. He had cleared it with ease recovering on his feet after his roll came to a stop and burst through the doors.

The Scarecrow turned to face where he had left VerMillion to see a boy with a knife to her throat, threatening to hurt her. His eyes darkened behind the mask. This boy had no idea what trouble he had just gotten himself into. His immediate rush into the situation faded as they seemed to be at a standstill. The knife was to VerMillion throat after all, but he wasn’t going to show that it intimidated him in any way. His muscles relaxed and he took a few slow steps off of the porch from the building to try and lose some distance between him and the young boy. “It looks like you've done my work for me…” The distortion from the mask cracked out toward VerMillion. The boy would either take it as a threat or he wouldn’t, depending upon how intelligent he was. It was rare for him to come across someone that didn’t know who he was or what his work involved. They had either lived under a rock or were new to Gotham.

[jokerforever]

She had to scream. Why did they always scream? He could have slit her throat right now. Could have ended it all as a punishment for her defiance. Scourge pressed the knife harder into her throat, a thin line of red forming along the blade and falling from the shallow wound in thin trickles, soaking into her shirt. "You're not very smart now are you?" He questioned with a raised eyebrow, his blue gaze intent upon her tender face. Jon. So was that the name of her boyfriend? That was a name Scourge heard often. Being such a common name, it held no signifigance to Scourge, being rather new to Gotham.

A sound from inside the building made his eyes flicker up with annoyance at the disturbance. It was obviously the man he had seen walking along with the woman. What he didn't expect was the strange mask over the man's head. A frightening aura danced around it, sending the slightest of chills up Scourge's spine before it faded with faint amusment. So the guy was wearing a decked out sack over his head. So what?

As he spoke, his voice was rather distorted. Logic told Scourge that it must have been the strange fans along the side of the mask, but who knew? The silly guy could just have throat cancer. The thought brought a smile that spread clearly across Scourge's face, brightening those brilliant blue eyes of his. "Your work?" Scourge questioned, amused. "And what work is that, potato head?" He sneered, slinging the unknown woman around so that she was now away from the wall and in front of him, facing Scarecrow with Scourge's arm draped over her shoulder, still holding the knife firmly into place. Perhaps he could use her for leverage.

[Heather Glass - VerMillion]

Though Heather presses herself against the wall as hard as she can, she still feels the slight pain of the knife scratching her skin and the drip of blood from the wound. She makes a quiet whimper of fright and pain, but she's not going to shout again. Either Jon's coming now or he isn't, and either way trying that again won't help anything.

Whether she was smart to do that or not depends on whether or not this boy decides to kill her for it. Because, barring that, at best it was a brilliant move that will save her life and at worst it was a neutral move that won't do a thing. It all depends on if Jon hears and responds.

And when the boy looks up a moment later, a good sized portion of her fear is suddenly replaced with relief. Sure the situation is still quite dire, but she trusts that Jon will figure out how to get her out of this situation in one piece. He's the Scarecrow, for pity's sake, and in spite of the fact that he's both taller and stronger than her the boy with the knife to her throat is just some crazed teenager. One that she doesn't recognize, and she certainly would if he was anybody important.

But though she has no small amount of confidence about the situation, she remains perfectly still and passive even as he pulls her around. A number of things she might try actually pop into her head, which is unusual for her, but the problem with actually trying any of them is that the knife on her throat could too easily kill her as she tried to get away. Better to leave it up to Jon, who can probably come up with something better.

[Jonathan Crane - Scarecrow]

It became clear almost immediately that this boy didn’t recognize him. Normal thugs would have just dropped what they were doing and ran at this point, if they had any brains at all. He must be new to Gotham, how unfortunate for him to find out this way. For a moment The Scarecrow just observed the boy and his actions. His hostility toward her was genuine, this much he could tell at this distance.

The insult didn’t seem to faze The Scarecrow as he took a small step forward. The boy had jerked VerMillion in front of himself to tell him he was serious. He was already quite aware that he wasn’t kidding. The small strain of red began to show trickling down her throat, it wasn’t a deep cut but it was threatening enough. The muscles around his shoulders loosened and his posture relaxed becoming rather calm from running outside so fast. It was clear that the knife to her throat wasn’t frightening him for her safety, right now he just had to do what he did best.

“There is nothing left for you here but fear and despair…” The Scarecrow’s voice cracked from the distortion. His hands rose slowly to about midway at his waist, trying to calm the boy that was threatening VerMillion with oblivion. His hands remained open and in sight as they moved slowly higher toward his chest area. As long as his focus was more on him than VerMillion it was working. The boy really had no idea what he had gotten himself into.

For the moment his gaze remained on the boy and not focused on VerMillion herself. He didn’t show any immediate outward concern for her rather than running out as quickly as he did and trying to calm him with his posture. It really told him nothing more than he should really reconsider what he was doing. Messing with The Scarecrows plans was not a good idea…Of course this one seemed like he was dieing to welcome the nightmare. Who was he to deny him?

“There is nothing you can offer me in return for your safety…” He claimed through the mask, an unstable smile appearing from behind it. “You have a few choices from here…you can run…you can kill her or you can ‘attempt’ to kill me….Unfortunately…none of them will change what awaits you. The only question that’s left for you to ask yourself is…” The Scarecrow shifted in his position slightly moving his raised hand finally into his coat and pulling out a large sickle. “Are you scared?”

[jokerforever]

A few moments passed, stretching strained silence as the two males simply observed each other, Scarecrow's features stoic even behind the mask, Scourge's features visibly darkening to an angry shade of red, blue eyes burning with a sudden, unquenchable rage. As Scarecrow's slow actions and distorted voice may have frightened others, it simply infuriated Scourge, who didn't bother to question his unexplainable fury. As Scarecrow continued, it drove the teenage boy into confusion as he gave in to his anger and released the girl he had quickly forgotten, striding forward on silent feet, the bloodied knife hanging loosely in his grip.

Scourge acted and moved like a robot, programmed only to destroy and burn. His emotion evaporated to reveal a soulless demon, stalking toward Death with a ready expression, eyes flicking toward the sickle with a bored glimmer. He didn't speak, refusing to answer the distorted voice of hell with the insufficient tone of his own, he simply approached, driven by the cruel overseer that was his fiery rage, forced onward by the lash of hatred in the form of a whip. A dark frown creased Scourge's face as he struggled to remember who he was, only to find his desperate attempts smothered by the monster's tight, suffocating grip. In the back of his mind, an alarm bell rung, but Scourge didn't seem to be in charge of his rusty limbs anymore, the old cogs and gears in his head seeming to process only the orders of Satan himself.

He was close now, a mindless drone approaching it's master with crooked intentions, twisted thoughts moving to fast to be processed, tightening into thick knots. Without the will of it's owner, Scourge's arm rose into the air, knife catching the light to gleam dimly, then with sudden haste, the limb shot back down, arching through the air towards Scarecrow's shoulder, right near the base of his neck. His other arm also slipped into action as the small knife decended, free hand balling into a fist to slam into the wrist that held the miniscule skythe with surprising force, hopefully knocking away the potential weapon and distracting the masked man from the knife that was aimed to plunge into skin and carve away flesh.

[Heather Glass - VerMillion]

The instant that she feels the boy let go of her, Heather stumbles away from him as quickly as she can - she's not about to believe that he won't try to change his mind before she's clean away, though when she finally glances back she sees the strange look that's come over him and figures that she won't have to worry about that problem. She doesn't go very far - though she doesn't run directly in Jon's direction, she only needs to get far enough away from him to make it easy for Jon to intercept any further attempts to hurt her.

Which isn't very hard given the fact that the boy seems intent on attacking Jon now. She turns to watch, holding the wound on her neck with one hand to help stop the bleeding as she does so. There's a flicker of concern in her eyes, though only a little - she trusts that Jon can handle this kid even though she'd rather he didn't have to.

On the other hand, the moment that she feels safely away most of the fear in her features shifts suddenly into anger. Yes, she'd rather not see Jon fight, but since the kid seems keen on pushing that issue, and especially since he attacked her for no apparent reason and held a knife to her throat, there is literally nothing that Jon could do to him that she wouldn't agree that the boy fully deserves. Indeed, if she thought that she could safely do so then she'd help. But knowing that the odds of her hurting herself or Jon by accident would be quite high she holds back, her eyes cold as she watches him advancing on Jon.

[Jonathan Crane - Scarecrow]

The Scarecrow watched as VerMillion was let go and tossed to the side like a ragged doll. Only a glance was given to her to make sure she wasn’t critically hurt. It seemed she was bleeding but nothing too severe, she would have been on the ground if he had cut into her jugular. No immediate harm done his eyes locked with the boy’s from within the darkness of his mask.

The way he carried himself told a world of stories to the Scarecrow. It was his job to pry people apart from the inside out, determine what made them who they were and expose them to the inevitable truth that made them who they were. This boy was no exception. As he came close into view The Scarecrow studied him and his movements. Just from his appearance alone he could tell the boy was unstable mentally, his unkempt hair, interesting choice of clothing, the desire for pain and anguish in his eyes. It made a dark stretched smile spear from within the dark hood he wore.

He kept his composure as the boy began to advance on him, his eyes locked with fascination. He couldn’t help but wonder if the boy didn’t fear the cold embrace of oblivion…What did he fear? The question that often got him into trouble wrapped around in his mind. The need to find out the answer was becoming more irresistible but for now he had to subdue the boy. “You welcome the nightmare?” The distortion laughed out as he approached.

When the boy stepped close enough The Scarecrow slipped into his Crane position lifting a leg gracefully off the floor, blocking any access to his midsection and allowing his body to sway easily. The knife came down swiftly but his reflexes acted as if the movement was slowed and easily seen. Pulling his shoulder back and spreading his arms like a crane he avoided the initially stab narrowly. It slid over the top of his shoulder only slicing partially into his clothes.

As a result his sickle was also removed from his right hand feeling a surprisingly harsh force to it. The sickle went flying from his hand to the steps that were nearby clattering and clanking to the cement below. After the knife slid toward his back The Scarecrow wrapped his now free hand back toward scourges arm that held the knife. Slipping it over and then under he locked arms with his attempting to punch fluidly into Scourges side.

The Scarecrow was incredibly dangerous up close with violent dancing, the best way for anyone to defend against it, was to either know a countering form of martial art, or to run. In most cases, they just ran…but they never got far. The boy had chosen to make a mistake and get very close…

[jokerforever]

Scourge frowned ever so slightly at the sudden, fluid movement of the masked man, bringing his shoulder swiftly out of harm's way as the sharp blade of the knife swiped over flesh without a single nick. The anger that fueled the boy practically had him shaking as he continued, eyes glancing toward the sickle as it flew from Scarecrow's hand to clatter to the ground, skidding across concrete. Before his gaze had even returned to Scarecrow, he found his opponent already moving, his arms temporarily immobile in the suprising blur of movement.

While his endurance was low, his seething fury drove him forward despite the wave of pain that grew and spread from Scourge's side. The firm hits would likely leave large bruises, the force jerking Scourge sideways, his feet passing over each other as he tried to maintain balance in Scarecrow's grip. His arm came up, muscles strained as Scourge forced his upper body into action, twisting around to to the side to try and free himself from Scarecrow, delivering a forceful hit to the side of his head with the side of his free hand, his mind not registering the fact that the mask would lessen the force of the blow considerably, depending on how thick it was.

As soon as he hit, Scourge tore himself free and lept back, his crooked thoughts not bothering to realize he was dealing with an experianced fighter. To him, this duel was going as it should. Nothing seemed to be wrong so far, except for the fact that he had sacrificed his knife in his attempt to get free, dropping it to the ground. Luckily, there was that sickle Scarecrow had dropped. All Scourge had to do was get to it.

The teenager offered a thin smile at the larger man before ducking towards the ground and diving for the weapon, already aware that this man was quicker on his feet then Scourge was. His only hope to reach the weapon was to leap for it. He hit the concrete on his hands, grabbing at it until he felt the firm handle come in contact with his palm. His fingers, stinging from the impact of concrete to flesh, wrapped around the sharp little skythe just as Scourge forced himself into a roll onto his back to assess the situation.

There was no way he would be able to regain his footing and balance before Scarecrow struck again. Instead, he waited for the man to get closer and struck out with his feet, hoping to slam them into Scarecrow's knees. It would be a painful hit. His hand drew back, aiming slightly farther up then where he should have aimed in order to catch the other man in the throat, but Scourge was worried the masked man would leap back to avoid the kicking of his two legs. Atleast if he didn't, the weapon still had a chance of catching the larger man in the head.

[Heather Glass - VerMillion]

Watching the two fight, Heather continues to wish that she could help, but she knows her own weakness in fighting. She hates that helpless feeling she gets whenever the situation she's in gets bad! Yet when she sees the sickle fly from Jon's hand she suddenly sees something she can do. One doesn't need to know much about this sort of thing to realize that loose weapons aren't a good thing. While it's possible that Jon will be able to recover it, it's just as possible that the boy will grab it. She doesn't really know how to use the thing, but she can at least pick it up and keep it away from the boy and possibly help get it back to Jon. She heads for it, walking quickly but keeping an eye on the fight just in case it starts going in her direction so that she'll be able to get out of the way.

But just before she makes it there, she sees the boy breaking away from Jon and making a dive for it, apparently having similar thoughts of his own. She's not very fast and thus doesn't manage to get there first, but since he's so focused on Jon it makes what she's doing a lot easier and safer for her. When he draws his arm back to try to use it she sees her chance and steps on the blade, trying to get it at an angle but knowing that the thick soles of her shoes will protect her from getting cut either way. This pins the weapon to the ground, and could possibly trap his hand beneath the handle if she's lucky. And the moment her weight shifts onto the weapon, she takes advantage of that by using her other leg to kick at his head as hard as she can.

It's definitely not normal for her to be a fan of violence, but that opinion is largely based on the fact that she'll probably lose. And most of the rest is that she's just plain not used to it. However, after having spent so much time with Jon she's getting over that by degrees. She still worries that he'll get himself hurt in spite of the fact that she's seen that he can usually handle himself, but it isn't nearly as much of a shock when things become physical anymore so she's able to think more clearly. That doesn't cure the fact that she's a klutz and an extremely green fighter, but at least that's some improvement. And for some reason it really ticks her off when someone holds a knife to her throat.

[Jonathan Crane - Scarecrow]

Quite a few good hits were gotten in on the man. It had been some time since he had gotten to practice his art, but he had studied it for so long the time away from it didn’t affect him much. If the boy was smart he would succumb now. This was going to be a losing fight for an amateur. At least if he were to just give in and accept his defeat he wouldn’t be so injured when he was drug back to the lab.

The Scarecrow had full intention of making Scourge his newest patient, after all he had been interrupted during the process. Clearly he was seeking the truth, and who was he to deny him it? Finally, after a series of jerks the boy squeezed from his grasp diving for the sickle on the ground. The Scarecrow didn’t care to move from his position; he would let him struggle for some kind of control over what he was doing, like a worm on the ground.

It was then that VerMillion had stepped in and placed her foot atop the weapon on the ground the boy was scrounging for. They had reached it at the same time, just further proving that if she could reach it at the same time as him he was young and inexperienced. Through the darkness of the mask his expression of surprise was hidden as she helped him. He didn’t need the help, but she had stepped in anyway. “You truly have done my work for me tonight…” The distortion cracked out from within.

The Scarecrow only moved from his position when she began to kick him in the head. He took his time in his long stride to the victim on the ground, knowing he could possibly reach out for her at any moment. He wasn’t worried, in fact with him in the position he was getting his face pummeled by a sneaker, it was the last thing that crossed his mind. All the mattered now was the burning question that never left his thoughts.

He came to a stop over them both, being quite a bit taller than VerMillion. The shadow of the Scarecrow came into the dim lighting of the streetlight and cast over them both, casting a thin line beside him. He had pulled out a metal syringe of the largest size he had. It was Durable and extremely useful for struggling patients. The syringe also had other qualities to it that seemed to fit his motives just fine. His gaze turned to VerMillion for a moment believing the battered boy had suffered enough head trauma; he didn’t want him too disoriented for this. Placing his free hand on her shoulder he offered her no words but his body language told her she could stop. His fingers pushed up on the pin of the syringe only slightly to get the air out of it. A neon yellow liquid came out of the syringe and spattered the ground beside him. “Now we will see who you really are..” The Scarecrow’s distortion glitched through his words. Carefully he bent his knees leaning down to the boy’s level.

[jokerforever]

Scourge hadn't expected the girl to jump in. Surprise lit up his gaze as his hand was pinned painfully to the rough concrete beneath weapon he had been trying to use against his opponent. He pushed back, of course, muscles aching with the strain as he struggled to lift her foot, tugging at his hand, jerking desperately despite the flare of pain each sudden movement caused as the concrete dug into flesh and tore across his hand. It was the kick that had finally allowed him to pull his hand free, his head snapping forward with a surprised gasp, his hand sliding out from beneath the weapon as well as her foot, warm crimson welling from thin cuts across tender skin.

The kick had sent his mind reeling, he could practically hear his pulse pounding painfully, eyes snapping closed and squinting at the touch of a terrible ache that spread through his skull, disorienting the teenage boy. His twisted, angry thoughts uncoiled, his thoughts fuzzy as he tried to remember why he had gotten so angry. It was his anger that had put him in this situation, and his greed that brought him there in the first place. He had suspected that the man and women woukd be capable of defending themselves, but he didn't think they would be able to get him so easily. Next time, if there was a next time, Scourge would be more vigilant. He would stop and think and most of all, develop a plan.

His blue eyes blinked open a few times as the ache subsided, recognizing the fact that Scarecrow was now leaning over him, his distorted voice reaching Scourge's ears as the boy tried to understand what the older man meant. Didn't he say that earlier? What was the point of saying it again? Scourge had already given his answer, and he clearly didn't understand what the hell Scarecrow was talking about. Done his job for him? It didn't make sense, even as his head cleared of the throbbing fog that had smothered his reason. He was about to speak again when his mind froze up once more, seeing the object Scarecrow had pulled out and immediately recognizing it. Eyes suddenly wide and lit up with fear, the boy shouted out a call for help and thrashed wildly, striking out at random places, not quite sure which punch was aimed for the girl, and which punch was aimed for the guy. He didn't care. Nothing mattered except getting away from the terrible object that Scarecrow held in his hand.

[Heather Glass - VerMillion]

Tug as the boy might, Heather doesn't have much trouble keeping her balance. She's not that heavy, but it doesn't take that much weight to trap a hand. While she knows that Jon hardly needs her help, in this case she simply wanted to. When someone cuts your neck it gets personal, at least in her book. And she sees no reason to restrain her anger, especially since Jon's right there, able to intervene if the boy manages to do anything about her attack. At his words, which she knew were meant for her, she glances up with an extremely smug grin on her face; she's happy to have simply managed to actually do something, but also takes a lot of pleasure in injuring the one who'd so threatened her mere moments ago. Even if the impact of her foot against the boy's head really hurt her toes, it's also deeply satisfying.

When he lets go of the sickle, Heather pauses momentarily to pick up the weapon and then kicks him again. She would have continued her assault if Jon hadn't put a hand on her shoulder. While she's of half a mind to ignore it, when she sees the syringe that reminds her that Jon has other things in mind than simply letting her kick him until she's done so enough times to satisfy her or he manages to stop her. She steps back, but can be heard muttering, "Better than he deserves," as she yields the boy back to Jon. She's not quite sure what she thinks the kid deserves, but at the moment she favors the idea of inflicting the body rather than the mind. However, while she doesn't understand why Jon's fear toxin matters so much to him, she recognizes that it does and therefore won't try to deprive him of a 'patient'. Especially not this guy. Besides, while she's not aware of it, she's currently in such a state of mind that literally nothing would satisfy her.

A moment after she steps away, she backs off even more when the boy starts to thrash in order to avoid his wildly swinging limbs - while she trusts that Jon can manage, as she doubts that he hasn't encountered that problem a large number of times, she hardly trusts her own ability to avoid getting hurt. Her earlier success was merely spotting a good opportunity and taking it, and she knows it. "Fear of needles?" she guesses out loud, somewhat contemptuously even though she only recently got over that one herself. She's still a bit of a wuss about the pain involved, but she's not scared of them anymore. It's where brave toxin comes from, after all.