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
|
|
Post by Jonathan Crane - Scarecrow on Jul 12, 2012 4:17:13 GMT -5
The possible answers to the question he asked pulsed through his veins. The feeling of being so close to something so grand was indescribable. Dr. Arkham? Having a family he cared about? It was almost too much to believe himself, but it made far too much sense. He was just a man after all, even if in some way he held him in a higher regard. More was expected from him than the common man and more was expected because of what he had managed to do.
It was all too clear. The wool that Dr. Arkham so desperately tried to hold over his eyes was lifted. Whatever he wanted to try after the realization was futile. Dr. Crane expected nothing less from him, and that is why he bore his eyes to him. He wouldn’t get away with a lie. Something in him wanted him to lie. He wanted to see him stammer and fall apart. Just the thought alone was Euphoria.
Dr. Crane turned his head a few centimeters, just so he could hear it better. Flirting with a doctor, dating a doctor? This lie had already been webbed far more than he had expected. Already he had named the specifics of where this ‘date’ worked. It didn’t matter now, the more he talked the more he told. His features remained calm and collected but Dr. Crane wanted to rip into him like a ravenous wolf. They were very much like the hunter and the wolf in the wild. Through the darkness the wolf watched his foe. He would stalk him to the edge of oblivion. Waiting for his chance to grip him in his jowls by the ankles and drag him into the darkness. Neither of them slept, neither of them breathed without the other knowing. There wasn’t a single part of Dr. Arkham that he wanted to survive. Just like the wolf was done devouring his prey, nothing would be recognizable by the time he was through; he would take everything from him.
For these reasons Dr. Crane fed off of the calculated contortion of his body. He hadn’t given him much room to move but he cleverly managed to gain space with his shoulder. A futile attempt to try and gain control over the situation. He couldn’t deny his enjoyment in the struggle. Carefully his fingers switched around the large metal syringe to get a better grip on it. As he fought against him, the needle remained pointed down toward his skin. They were about to find out exactly what Dr. Arkham really cherished.
Any air that was in his lungs suddenly slammed against the forefront of his cheat like it was trapped. The cold metal barrel threatened its way to his jaw. Any and all movement in him froze. Dr. Arkhams words began to pulse and fade in his ears, barely understanding what was being said. His mind had been thrown into a spiral. Dr. Crane lifted his chin slightly as the gun was moved around his neck. His eyes remained focused on his foes through the decline of his peripherals.
A sound emitted from his lips as more of the situation registered. Everything around them just seemed to fade away, he nearly forgot VerMillion’s presence behind them entirely. One pull of the trigger away from sweet embrace. The soothing, welcoming arms of oblivion to wrap themselves around him. There was no pang of doubt in his mind about what would happen. “You should know better.” He began to laugh softly within his words. “Than to threaten the master of fear with oblivion…” Dr. Crane let his unstable amusement flow through. Did he really think he could win this way? That this would stop the inevitable from happening?
Though amusement was found in the threat he did understand it was a stalemate. The euphoric expression on his face was finally dropped as Dr. Arkham dug the barrel further into his skin. He took another sharp inhale through his teeth and quickly closed his mouth. The pressure of the barrel pulled around his skin of his Addam’s apple as it bobbed to swallow with difficulty. The moment was exhilarating the feeling surrounding it was so conflicting. Dr. Cran’e machostic side of him was bleeding through each time his fingers twitched on the metal of the needle.
He listened to his last threat. The needle came closer to his neck just barely scraping the skin. His muscles loosened and he let the syringe fall from his fingers. The sound from the metal cracking against the street was sharp in his ears. Dr. Crane’s unstable demeanor seemed to calm but no tension left the air. “Lets…Not get…carried away..” He spoke softly through the cynical smile that overwhelmed his features. His chin slowly declined into the cold metal of the gun.
“Do it…” A dark voice escaped his lips. His throat pushed harder into oblivion at his foes hands. “Do it..” He repeated pulling his hands slowly inward toward Dr. Arkhams hands and the hilt of the gun. The truth that drove his obsession clearly taking his mind. “Do you ‘love’ your family?....Your ‘date?’" His emphasis on the word love was smoothed over with sarcasm. Dr. Crane’s fingers twisted around his. If it were anyone else holding the trigger his mind might have not warped to where it was now. His features poured out his enjoyment in knowing the truth, truly the only thing he could get passionate about…his obsessions. “Don’t you want to save them?....Save her?” Turning the gun slightly he applied even more pressure to his neck. “Save yourself?”
There was clear cynicism in his voice. He had made it clear that his story wasn’t being bought. Dr. Crane took a deep breath and waited for his reaction.
|
|
|
|
Post by Heather Glass - VerMillion on Jul 12, 2012 5:13:19 GMT -5
As inattentive to the finer points of the situation as she's been, so is Heather's attention instantly drawn to the gun the moment it appears in Dr. Arkham's hand - seeming to appear there as if conjured there by magic since she'd missed seeing him reaching into his pocket. Her breath catches, and though it's not pointed at her she freezes at the sight of it pointed at Jon's neck every bit as much as he does.
But unlike him, she has a great deal of difficulty thinking her way through that moment. Her thoughts freeze every bit as much as her body, knowing only that she does not want that gun there but so frozen in the moment that she can't fathom how it could be otherwise. Yet when Jon speaks again, her attention shifts immediately to him. Quickly taking in that soft laugh as a small sign that everything may yet be okay. She's not sure how much she buys into the idea of him being the 'master of fear' or whatever, but she does trust his skill at getting himself out of these situations. Especially since Jon has the syringe every bit as poised to strike as the gun.
...Until Jon drops it... Her lips part, wanting to ask him what in the hell he's doing, but her ability to speak is gone. She finds herself, if anything, even more frozen than before as if fearing that by the smallest breath in the wrong direction she might accidentally cause a very precarious situation to fall apart.
Her eyes are locked on Jon, her expression a mixture of confusion and fascination as he seems to try to provoke Dr. Arkham. What is he doing? Is he suicidal? Or does he somehow know that the trigger won't be pulled? Or is he just plain crazy? Her minimal understanding of Jon hardly precludes the latter possibility - in fact she thinks that it's rather likely. But though her mind fills with questions, she's hardly able to answer any of them. Especially since she's gotten very light-headed all of the sudden and is having trouble thinking straight.
|
|
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
|
|
Post by Jeremiah Arkham - Black Mask on Jul 19, 2012 23:44:34 GMT -5
Jonathan had won. When it came to Arkham’s deception, his attempts to keep Crane from ever being any the wiser to the true answer of what he most cherished, Arkham had fallen right into the trap that had been laid out for him. He could make snipes to lead the other man astray, he could talk, but those were words and his words were not matched by his actions. His face perhaps in the beginning gave nothing away, but all was lost the moment his hands had produced the gun. The moment he thrust it against his throat, the glass began to spider web over his secret. When he spoke, the threats caused the glass to shatter. He had said nothing, he had not came out and said that he had a family, but he didn’t have to. The fact he had pulled the gun and made to intimidate him had revealed everything between the lines. He might as well have come out and simply said, “I have a family to protect.”
He could recall the ease with which he’d laughed off the question when it had been posed to him at Arkham. Perhaps it was the fact that Arkham Asylum was an environment that Jeremiah felt he more or less had a control over. At Arkham he had no fear of discovery because it was a place that Melina knew they had to keep romantic interaction to a minimum or behind closed doors. When he had married her that had been what had had to be done. She had kept her maiden name at the Asylum, they both refused to wear their wedding bands and such during their shifts. It was safer that way. She knew she could be a target and Arkham hadn’t wanted that for her, or his two sons, but all it had taken was a chance meeting with finding him on the phone. And now the cat was out of the bag, and how simple it was for it all to fall. Yet that’s how nature worked didn’t it? Strong structures bowed by the simplest of things.
Yet even though Arkham was cursing himself for stepping in front of the train that Jonathan had sent careening towards him, that didn’t mean he was not going to give up and bow before Scarecrow. Arkham cherished his family above himself and he would take whatever measures necessary to see them safe. Even if that measure meant the obliteration of Jonathan Crane himself.
Jonathan laughed at his threat, but Jeremiah’s face only became more livid and serious. And the gravity was what grounded him, made his hands hardly quake around the weapon he wielded. He held such little regard for what Jonathan considered himself, he may be master of fear, but he was no God, not as he saw himself. Yet, even oblivion claimed gods now and then. He stared with a cold and calculated gaze at his foe, the man who threatened his family by merely assuming correctly that they existed. His breathing was harsh, nostrils flared, as his grip tightened on the gun. If it quivered it shuddered in a torrent of rage and understanding that these people he had kept away from harm as much as he could would now be suspect to possibly—he took in Crane’s smirk—no, there was no doubt. They would be used against him. His face remained iron even as the amusement disappeared from Jonathan’s, and he didn’t even flinch at the sting that the needle caused. He felt it, but his mind was on this man, this man and the choice he had already made. It was too late, not to get carried away. Jonathan may have just taken his own shovel and began to dig his own grave. No one was going to harm Jeremiah Arkham’s family and he not do something about it.
His lips twitched at the next, scornful grin the other man gave him. He let the man speak, let him push him further and further, not that he needed any encouragement. He had even forgotten at the moment that the syringe had been discarded. All he was focused on was the fact that Jonathan was not only begging him to shoot him, but was pressing himself closer to the pistol, guiding Jeremiah’s hands. If he was not finding enjoyment in watching the man ask for oblivion, he’d snatch his hands away, gun or not. But he was finding his own satisfaction in this. His was darkened in a gleeful smirk. Jonathan wanted to taste oblivion? Most would think Jeremiah quite sick for finding amusement in that notion and the yearning to want to bring it to him, but later as he thought through it, it was Jonathan Crane or his family.
Jeremiah chose his family.
The grin slipped from his lips, replaced by concentration. He remembered the first time he’d killed someone. It got easier each successive time. Yet, he couldn’t help but pause, thinking this was a pity. Jonathan was one of his most challenging patients, it would be sad to lose him, but this had to be done. Still what a waste, losing such a bright mind, and the interesting conversations they never failed to have. Jeremiah pressed the trigger, making sure he was staring into Jonathan’s eyes as he did so.
The gun clicked. Now Jeremiah knew there were bullets in it. He didn’t take a gun with no bullets and it had become second nature for him to check, which left that it was jammed. He squeezed the trigger a second time and once again, there was the familiar echo of it still remaining jammed. Color rushed to his face in his frustration, eyes flickering from Jonathan’s to the gun. His face took on the expression of a snarl. He snatched the gun from Jonathan’s fingers, intent on checking the clip. He was not letting Crane go. And of course that was the moment the gun decided to go off.
Jeremiah hissed at the loud crack, he then groaned in surprise at the jolt it gave his arm. But what really caught his attention was when the sound died down, when the smell of gunpowder reached his nose. The bullet had missed! He knew his expression became that much more livid, if such a thing was possible.
|
|
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
|
|
Post by Jonathan Crane - Scarecrow on Jul 23, 2012 22:02:20 GMT -5
If there was truly any moment that he could have had to say that he had backed Dr. Arkham into the wolves den, it was now. He could almost see the darkness flood over his shoulders as his world became more condense and darker. All he would be able to see was the cold eyes of his predator that had him right where he wanted him. His ears would be deafened with the growls and snarls coming from the beast that planned to tear him apart and scavenge his body until here was nothing left. It was like tearing his soul from his chest, and Dr. Crane wanted it his mind was obsessed with it almost as much as the glorious truth he found within his research. It could be simply said through this terrifying metaphor that Dr. Arkham’s life was going to end with him, however long it took to take him apart piece by piece.
It was fascinating to think of just how long he might have been keeping a secret this vast. The possibilities were endless. It seemed just as Dr. Crane thought he knew Dr. Arkham he would come out with something to take him by surprise. Unfortunately what Dr. Arkham didn’t anticipate was having the tables turned on him so easily. He had really set himself up for all of this. Spinning his web of lies, did he really think it would last forever? With how many eyes are on him constantly? What doctor could it have been? Dr. Crane had met all of them there at least once. Always a brief encounter unless he was in the medical bay. Some of the doctors in there he had spent weeks with recovering. Of course they kept him tightly strapped down for fear of injuring one of them. When they were able, they also kept him heavily sedated.
Dr. Crane was close to him, despite the cold barrel that threatened the bottom of his jaw. Being this close he was able to see every little pull in his face, feel every twitch of a muscle and he did. He had observed carefully the entire time even through his challenge for the man to kill him if he could. His foes eyes bore directly into his and that is exactly how he wanted it. The way his muscles pulled, the way his nostrils flared and his hands twitched in anger. He wasn’t feeling anger…anger stemmed from something so much deeper than that. Dr. Crane couldn’t feel his anger….but he could feel his fear…
The barrel that was once cold finally began to heat against his skin as he continued to hold it there with him, watching the ‘fury’ build in his eyes as he did. Even through it he noticed that Dr. Arkham had taken great pause in this moment to watch him as well. There had always been great suspicion that Dr. Arkham was a sadist, a quit extreme sadist from the rumors in the asylum. There was no doubt he was taking some kind of pleasure from this act, found even through his rage.
Surely Dr. Arkham didn’t fear oblivion? Not on a personal level, but fear giving Dr. Crane the sweet embrace? His hesitation to do this only made him more fascinated with his choice to threaten him with oblivion itself. His fingers made slight movements as Dr. Arkham’s look turned even colder than before. There was a certain look that poured from a man’s soul into his eyes when he was ready to take a life. The deep inhale that’s taken just before it happens, right before you take the breath away from your prey. Dr. Crane wanted it, he wanted to take it from him as much as Dr. Arkham was willing to give him oblivion. Lost in the moment of it all he closed his eyes knowing what was to come. His hand that held the gun with him loosened and his free hand turned outward a bit as if to embrace something unseen.
Click.
Dr. Crane’s eyes opened as he heard the less than climatic response of the gun. Dr. Arkham had done it, he had pulled the trigger. The fact that he could kill him and was quite willing to do so brought a deep sense of satisfaction within him. He took in his confused expression and slightly shook his head against the pressure of the barrel. He really should have known better, in multiple sessions he had explained that he couldn’t die. What was it going to take to make him believe it? This wasn’t even enough?
Click.
Again the gun jammed and a grin spread across Dr. Crane’s face. He was still a god, from the first click to this one, and every single time he tried afterward. His body remained still not immediately reacting to any of it. He wanted to see whether he may try a third or a fourth or even a fifth time to further prove he was incapable of dying. Through his snarl Dr. Crane kept the wide spread grin even as his hands were finally pulled away. Having a loose grip it wasn’t difficult for Dr. Arkham to wrestle the gun away from him. He finally let the hitched breath in his chest leave as he finally went to speak. Suddenly his body froze as the deafening sound of the shot rang in his eardrums. No pain didn’t exactly mean he wasn’t hurt, in fact it could have meant he was in so much pain he couldn’t feel it.
Slowly his eyes turned down toward the gun and saw its trajectory. The bullet had missed him completely, how much proof did Dr. Arkham need? It was time to take advantage of the moment. In one quick motion he lunged his hand forward toward his hand that held the recently discharged gun. With an attempted forceful push he aimed to crack Dr. Arkham’s hand that held the gun hard into the hard frame of his car, hopefully encouraging him to drop it or at least stop and further attempt to hurt himself….He certainly wouldn’t be hurting him with it. With that threatening movement he followed up by taking his free hand into his hair and slamming his head back against the top of the car frame. His grip attempted to hold him their firmly while his other left his hand and went to Dr. Arkham’s pocket.
He had no problem invading that man’s privacy as his fingers searched for the phone that had been placed gently back inside. Carefully he got his fingers around it, not wanting to further search his pockets. There would be little reason to after he knew he was right. No this wasn’t being done for confirmation of any kind, this was being done for his own personal satisfaction, to strike fear within his enemy. “A shame you had to miss that call earlier..” He taunted to his face making sure his fingers pulled tightly at his hair as he spoke. “Why don’t you give them a call back?” Jonathan turned the phone in his hand and clicked it on pushing the call back for the missed call. He brought the phone to Dr. Arkham’s ear and let it ring.
|
|
|
|
Post by Heather Glass - VerMillion on Jul 24, 2012 1:07:55 GMT -5
Attention completely fixed upon the two men, Heather watches the scene playing out in front of her in silence. Her head has gotten fuzzy, but her heart races to try to keep up with her adrenaline. She's not about to see Jon die, is she? But as Dr. Arkham's manner changes slightly she senses that he's about to fire. Oh, God no...
The click of the gun jamming jars her senses - what is that noise? She actually hasn't ever heard a gun fire in person before, so for a wild instant she wonders if it's just a really quiet gun or something. But no, Jon's apparently fine. And he continues to be even after the sound repeats itself. What the...?
Much slower than either man, she finally realizes what's happening and is about to breathe a much-needed sigh of relief when the gun actually fires. That might have prevented what happens next, since she has been - completely without her own knowledge - holding her breath ever since the object appeared. And the lack of oxygen combined with the pounding of her heart and the huge amount of mental strain she's been under means that her body is being pushed to some very real limits. The sudden, loud sound of the gun firing is enough to nudge her past them even before she gets the chance to pause and verify that the bullet didn't hit anyone.
While still on her feet, her mind gives into the already threatening unconsciousness. Which is a very good thing, actually, as an unconscious person is incapable of being too scared to breathe or be under any real mental strain. However, a moment later she slumps heavily to the ground, hitting it quite hard since one cannot do anything to catch themselves when one loses consciousness on their feet. Fortunately, she's also unable to appreciate the fact that it hurts right now.
|
|
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
|
|
Post by Jeremiah Arkham - Black Mask on Jul 25, 2012 21:02:37 GMT -5
For Arkham fear was the feeling of his stomach sinking, seeming to shrink into itself. It was wide eyes and dry mouth. It was coldness, be it the expansion of what felt like a glacier within his chest that seemed to zap his breath or the sudden clamminess that engulfed his fingers. It was short breath and the feeling of blood draining from his face. Of course as Jonathan’s attention moved from the gun which then hung loose in Jeremiah’s fingers back to Jeremiah himself, he couldn’t analyze what he experienced step-by-step, reaction by reaction—all the small ticks in his body that announced it believed he was facing demise. All Jeremiah noted was the intent in Jonathan’s eyes and the tensing of his muscles. He knew what was about to occur and his heart twittered, picking up. He let out a gasp and followed instinct. He attempted to dodge the pounce Jonathan made at him. He tried to run. He failed. Subconsciously he couldn’t himself surprised, but couldn’t stop the gaping of his mouth or the tightening of his body as he was forced against the car and his wrist grabbed. He grunted in pain, but the gun clattered to the pavement.
The only physical weapon Jeremiah had had was lost. From there, the next events seemed to occur in gross, slow motion. The wrenching of his head back by his hair for one, though Jeremiah could fight back with his hands and he did. He tried to leverage himself on the car and push Jonathan away, but just like with the gun, he failed. Jonathan’s grip was steady. The back of his head hit his car just above the door.
Arkham groaned at the sharp pain that really did seem to cause stars as flashes of white pervaded Dr. Arkham’s vision and he was forced to suck in a hissing breath in reaction to the throb that now radiated from the rear of his skull. This incapacitated him just enough to lose that Jonathan’s grip has firmed again, this with no intent to smash his head against something again, but to hold him captive for his next act. Disoriented momentarily, he was unable to stop Jonathan’s bid for the cell phone—he would vow to never allow such a thing to happen again after this—and by the time he had his complete senses again, he could feel Jonathan’s fingers clasped around the prize. He watched the other’s face alight in malicious glee. It was a reflection that spoke to Jeremiah as he knew the look that was cast over Jonathan’s features; the look of utter pleasure. As the knowledge that he held control, that he had elicited full-blown terror in Arkham occurred him to, the victim watched as it darkened his face so that his eyes seemed to glow in his delight. It also stitched an unnerving grin across the other’s face, but Jeremiah couldn’t tear his eyes away from Jonathan’s. He heard his taunts, grimaced unconsciously at the tug of his head, but he could not look away. His world did begin to cave in until there was nothing but those eyes and darkness.
Here was where they both found satisfaction: the torment of the other, the mastery of the situation. They both relished causing a form of agony in their victims, and sometimes that agony was the same, though he knew from observation that Jonathan also could enjoy be caused pain, but at the moment that was not the point. The point was, that Jonathan had won; he knew he had, and the joy burned in his eyes. Interesting how it was an expression Jeremiah wore often himself. He recognized it, but how different Jonathan’s face spread to convey it. Dr. Arkham died not like the role reversal. He hated it. Hated being the victim, hated being at the mercy of this man, hated being the prey. Yet the searing boil of heat in his cheeks and chest were absent. Fear had tempered the hatred, doused it and Jeremiah was fumbling to reignite it. He was mute, he was frozen. His lips moved, but he gave no reaction.
He just stared, hushed. He seemed lost as the phone rang in his ear, as if unaware of it, until the line was picked up.
Jeremiah heard the breathing first and then the small voice of Isaiah.
“Hello?”
He felt punched in the gut. His brows wrinkled and his lips quivered. Jeremiah felt the mist of tears enter his eyes. He couldn’t let this Monster find his son. Unaware of what he would say, his lips parted just as something brushed against him.
It jolted Jeremiah enough that his previously caved-in world suddenly burst back into sound and exploded in size. Traffic, dogs, the distant conversations of people entered his ears along with a crack that tore his gaze from Jonathan’s to the woman who had fallen to the side of their feet. It had been too much for her after all, it seemed. Arkham found himself far from sympathetic and his eyes snapped back to Jonathan’s in an instant, the expression of horror wiped completely from his face.
“H-h-hello?” It lanced his heart to hear the terror in Isaiah’s voice, but he could not show it. He blocked it from his face and pushed it aside before it caused a reaction. Instead he reached up and wrapped his fingers around Jonathan’s which held the phone. He seemed to pull the phone closer to his ear, but instead his thumb ran over its face. It took little movement to hit the END button from there. Then he raised a brow.
“I think they had the wrong number.” He explained.
Eyes boring into Jonathan’s unflinchingly, he balled his other hand into a fist and swung up toward Jonathan’s stomach, attempting to punch him in the gut.
|
|
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
|
|
Post by Jonathan Crane - Scarecrow on Jul 27, 2012 2:31:52 GMT -5
Dr. Crane held him with little mercy against the top of the car hood. His fingers gripped tightly, he didn’t care if he was ripping anything out. The man deserved to suffer; he deserved to take any pain that pain come from this. The man that took everything from him was within his fingertips. His life, he could end right now, and all of this would be over. He could go back to his research without ever having to hear the name Dr. Arkham ever again. Although the thought was pleasing in his mind, it wasn’t enough. His eyes hungered for more satisfaction even if ultimately taking his life was what he wanted in the end. It just wasn’t enough.
The soft ring seemed to echo through the air around them. Just the ring itself seemed to bother Dr. Arkham so much. He could see the burning ire in his eyes for what was happening to him right now. There was no doubt in his mind this call had been significant, and it was going to take a lot of proof to convince him otherwise. The true fact was that it would have just shown him how pathetic and dense Dr. Arkham really was. What a weak man to break to the human ‘desire’ to have a family. Why would he place himself in such a position to have an open wound? With so many around him that wished to have his head, it was insanity.
The world fell silent around them, it seemed to drift away and leave them both in a moment. They were glaring into each other’s eyes, one waiting to break the other. The only sound that could be heard between the two was the echo from the phone, ringing and ringing. Building the tension and anticipation between the two. Both knowing that whatever was on the other end of the line could ultimately end Dr. Arkham. Patiently he waited for a voice to pick up the phone. Did Dr. Arkham take a wife? Or a mistress perhaps?
A small voice emitted from the phone……A child? He wasn’t certain at first, the voice was small and meek, sounded male, not one that a high squeaked female child would make. Then again he never was good with children, nor cared to be around them for any amount of time. For the most part Dr. Crane acted as if children didn’t exist and the world was mostly grown- ups. He didn’t have a childhood, what did theirs mean to him?...Nothing. This however was a special case if the child was indeed the lion of Dr. Arkham’s. Whatever child of Arkham’s would surely end up paying for the sins of the father in one way or another. It was just far too easy to use against him.
Just as he began to pull for a reaction from Dr. Arkham’s eyes something fell to the side of them. The world seemed to snap back into view and the sounds around them became suddenly clear. Slowly Dr. Crane’s head turned away from him to look at what had fallen beside them. Honestly, he had almost forgotten she had been there at all. Not because he didn’t want her to be there, but because he was so wrapped up in his own obsession. That came easily when he was in front of Dr. Arkham, the man that had ruined so much of his life. The only man that he could say ignited a part in him that was so deep it made him want to murder and admit to it. It made him want to do it in front of millions…in front of the whole world. The obsession with this was so great, that he couldn’t even bring himself to do it, unless the conditions were perfect. He had to be in complete and utter terror…to the bone…his life had to be torn apart in front of his eyes.
Taking a short glance at VerMillion now laying on the floor he had to admit to himself that tonight may have been a bit too much for her. So psychologically weak…But she had never been this exposed to the real world around her before. This also meant that Dr. Arkham was right, and he wasn’t pleased with that at all. He would never outwardly admit to that fact either. It wasn’t that he didn’t know that VerMillion was being exposed to more than she could handle, it was because he simply lacked any ability to care about it. It had happened, they were dealing with it. Dr. Crane was no murderer….He had no intention of the man dying on them. It would have been just another night for her. As for walking away from Dr. Arkham to spare her emotions….
That wasn’t going to happen.
Slowly his head turned back to Dr. Arkham as the small voice echoed again from the phone. He noticed that any expression that seemed to be leaking through had gone. The short look at VerMillion had cost him the sure proof he needed that he did indeed know who was on the other end. Though he hadn’t expected it he let Dr. Arkham pull his hand forward with the phone to put it closer to his ear. The motion to end the call had not been noticed; instead he took note on his words. He was still trying to get out of it? After all this time Dr. Arkham thought that there was a glimmer of hope for him left? Though he remained expressionless and indifferent to whomever he hung up on, his fear had bled through with the aim of the gun that now lay on the pavement.
Suddenly a sharp pain found its way into his gut. He had been caught off guard by the motion and his body didn’t fully absorb the blow. The only reaction that was made in response with his training was that his muscle had relaxed at the last moment. It was moments too late to avoid the massive amount of pain that came with it. Dr. Crane was defined, and his body was slender, each ab showed with little effort from himself to sculpt them in any way. Because of this his gut was hard, but wasn’t invincible to rough blows.
Regardless his body reacted to the pain and fell to the ground by buckling his knees. Once he was on the ground one arm defensively wrapped around his abdomen to protect it from further assault. With his now free hand he quickly grabbed for the gun to his side and pointed it at Dr. Arkham from the ground. Dr. Crane’s cold stare could not be denied even from the ground as the barrel of the gun came to point at his chest. “Get in the car…” He gritted through his teeth still sucking through some of the pain. It slowly began to subside and his breathing got back under control quickly. The confidence of holding the gun now making any emotion drop from his face. He simply held that cold unstable look on his features. “The passenger’s side” He demanded “and put VerMillion in the back” Dr. Crane attempted to slide back, still aiming the gun at his chest. Slowly he tried to get up, keeping it held firmly toward him, daring him not to comply.
|
|
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
|
|
Post by Jeremiah Arkham - Black Mask on Jul 30, 2012 14:44:42 GMT -5
Out of the grease and straight into the frying pan.
He was cursing himself for the consequences of his actions, but by the time he was aware he should be cursing his luck, it was far too late. Jeremiah had been in control for all of the thirty seconds it took for Jonathan to be taken by surprise by his fist, fall to the ground, and snatch the gun. For those thirty seconds Jeremiah felt vindicated. He knew he’d not fooled Crane. His secret had already come out. His claim of a wrong number hadn’t been an overt attempt to deny that he had a family because just as his actions had revealed what he didn’t say verbally long before the phone call, Jonathan’s words and actions revealed that he knew and that he was not going to believe him otherwise. Dr. Arkham was aware all he had done was buy time. He had acted to keep the identity of his son a secret, keep him safe. His secret may have been known, but that just meant Jonathan knew he had a possible family. He was minimizing the situation, but the fact was that Jonathan did not know how big his family was, he did not know names, and he was not aware of ages. Jeremiah wanted to keep that way. As long as the distance between Jonathan and his family remained vast, there was no danger.
Distance could easily be crossed, however. He had done all he could to keep them unknown. His son Nathaniel was legally an Arkham as was his youngest, but they often used their mothers’ maiden names: Manes and Graves in both enrollment and for other affairs. That was why Arkham had been so flustered when Nate had chosen to be alumni at another university rather his father’s Alma Mater. That was exactly why he’d allowed his son to pick up his Bachelor’s and Master’s at another school. It kept him out of Gotham and consequently, it kept him out of the sight of those that could use him for vengeance against him. Keeping Nathaniel out of Gotham had kept him safe. His wife also continued to use her maiden name. In the Medical Bay she was not another Dr. Arkham, but Dr. Graves. Yet had anyone wanted the truth, he legally could not hide it. There was a marriage license, court documents, birth certificates, insurance papers, anything that could claim that he was married and a father all of them were discoverable by those who wished to find them, but to the public he was much less interesting than Batman or his assortment of Rogues, all of whom the media pursued with combs, pretending they could figure out what made each of them tick. No one had ever cared that Dr. Jeremiah Arkham had a life outside the asylum, and he had never questioned why. He just let it be and worked on concealing what he could, though he did have his records sealed. But this was Gotham, if someone wanted them, they could be had and he knew it.
Crane had called his family, a weakness, an open wound. Arkham knew they were, and he had taken all the steps he could to hide that wound from infection. He had attempting stitching, covering, and bandaging it. All-in-all ten years was an accomplishment. He remembered feeling relief when Nathaniel packed for school, thinking it would all be alright. He was certain his wife could handle herself, but then Arkham had gotten the news he was to be a father yet again. Jeremiah Arkham had not been afraid of fatherhood, what he had been afraid of was someone learning of his child. He worried about Melina accidentally letting it slip as she worked in the infirmary, he worried about an inmate finding her an easy target as her pregnancy progressed and became more prominent—he’d have ran the risk of losing both of them—and then when he’d stared down at the mottled face of his newborn son, a new door of fear and worry had been kicked open. He wanted to be a father, but not as who he was, but he loved Isaiah, he loved his wife, and he loved Nathaniel. Yet Gotham was no place to raise a child and he was not a man who needed to be a father.
As he watched Crane fall to the ground, he knew why he didn’t need to be a father. Not only was he attached to his family making them perfect tools against him, but they were his family. He put them danger the moment he was taken on a person to be loathed. Yet he was one, and his duty as one was to protect them to the best of his abilities. Perhaps one day people would look back at him and ponder if his acts under fatherhood were the only selfless actions he’d ever taken, but Jeremiah himself was not thinking of that. He had only eyes for the man that had fallen to his feet. The man who had seen the discarded gun at the same moment Jeremiah had.
Jonathan was closer to the ground, and even as Jeremiah tried to duck and snatch it, he was too late. He straightened and went absolutely still. Unlike Jonathan, he was not craving a dance with oblivion at least not for the pleasure it apparently brought Crane. He knew Jonathan meant to use the gun if he refused to his demands, but that did not mean that Jeremiah honestly didn’t weigh the option. He could refuse to do as asked. Why would he want to help Crane in any sense of the word? He wasn’t feeling generous and having a gun aimed level with his heart, didn’t make him any warmer to the notion. He made no move as Jonathan stood. He didn’t move to do as asked, he didn’t speak. He had half a mind to refuse. The worst Crane could do was shoot him and take his car anyway. Right?
Jeremiah’s gaze flickered to the woman at his feet. No, that wasn’t the worst that could happen because he refused. Jeremiah owned a car; he had insurance for his car. His insurance and his registration were present in his car. He raised his hands for Jonathan to see and nodded, finally having decided to follow his commands. He didn’t do it because he himself was afraid of dying. If it would have done his family good, he’d have taken the bullet. He had made the decision because his address was on his registration and insurance. He knew that Jonathan would look for it. Jonathan wouldn’t kill him, not with such tantalizing evidence to support that he was not the only Arkham. His family could be used against him and it was more likely that he would incapacitate him, take the car, and if he was killing anyone it’d have been his family. He wanted to cause him agony and what was better than being helpless as a monster attacked your flesh and blood? Finding out where Arkham lived would be as easy as opening the glove compartment.
“Girl in the back seat,” he stated to Crane, “I’m going to do that now.” He didn’t turn around as he opened the back door to his car. He instead reached behind him and the door clicked as it opened. He looked to Heather lying on the ground. “I’m going to pick her up now, Crane.” He stated.
He had lifted patients heavier than her and so it was quite easy to bend down and take her into his arms. The most challenging part was maneuvering her into the backseat and that wasn’t a huge challenge. He pulled from the backseat after he’d arranged her to lie across it and straightened, but he didn’t look at Crane as he shut the door. “You can have the keys after you get in.”
He walked around the car and as Crane had commanded, opened the passenger door and slid inside. His expression was unreadable, but all he could think of was how quickly this had all changed. What had been a simple run to the grocery store had turned out so horrible. He was hardly five minutes from his home, but he tried not to think about that reality. He was focused on trying not to be difficult for once because in the position he was in now, he knew difficulty would only make it all the worse. It was best to follow along.
For now.
|
|
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
|
|
Post by Jonathan Crane - Scarecrow on Aug 6, 2012 16:26:35 GMT -5
Dr. Arkham wasn’t the first to consider him lucky. He had been called it by many professionals in the past. If it truly was luck that he was able to avoid oblivion for this long than he was on the longest hot streak in the world. Dr. Crane’s life was filled with the chance of oblivion on a regular basis, he had no reason to fear it, only embrace it. He knew however that it would never come, for the simple reason that he couldn’t die. After so many failed attempts it was the only explainable reason. It was all made very clear to him that one night in the sewers.
The reality from that fateful night was that he was indeed a being that held a higher understanding of the world around him. It would later feed into his obsessions and his drive to push himself through the system and school to get to where he needed to be. There was one constant force that kept him going within, and it was the absolute understanding of fear itself. So much so that he knew he truly was its incarnate. He was fear itself, a God, and Dr. Arkham would fall before him, as all should worship fear for what it is, the governor of their lives.
That was all long before he had met Dr. Arkham. The man had fallen into his line of obsession the day that he betrayed him. Before then he had just tolerated the man, had a certain respect for his work though it was flawed. He was just wrapped up in his patients, going about them all in the wrong manner. Dr. Crane was always able to see right through the false exterior he held and presented for guests and the media. There was a much more twisted side within, something that he could see right through him to. It had been no secret to him what went on behind closed doors, even if he hadn’t actually seen it himself. Regardless he was practicing it all the same. He would never know for sure whether Dr. Arkham knew or was letting him get away with it. The same lies had spewed from his mouth before about always having known but it could all be taken as deception. Dr. Crane had no reason to believe this man.
Dr. Arkham was jealous of his work, he always had been. It was the perfect reason to get rid of him. To keep your enemies closer? Dr. Arkham had laid the true boundary for what that meant. Dr. Crane had become a threat to him and his establishment, so he took out the threat. Instead he placed the threat back into his own clutches so he could brood and watch over it. The thought made his blood boil; he wanted to rip the asylum out from underneath him just so he could burn it to the ground. There was no way he would ever be able to own it as much as he desired to do so; society just wouldn’t allow a convict to do such things. So it would have to be in his own way, and he would accomplish it.
The ways that he could burn Dr. Arkham to the ground with his legacy were piling up by the moment. He had allowed himself to take on such a weakness, an exposure to a wound that would ultimately be his end. He almost expected the man to have better sense than that, a small disappointment that he would give in to such meaningless desires. Having a family of any kind or friend of any kind was something Dr. Crane could never promote or stand behind. Even the passing fling or sexual interest was a mistake, it was all meaningless, a façade that people used to cover their fears. What they never realized was that no matter how far they ran it was still inside them, and shown in everything they did. The incidents of late could have been incriminating to his thoughts on these matters, but he tossed them aside into another category. Dr. Arkham never needed to know these things, and he never would.
Having the gun settled in his hands instead of Dr. Arkham’s was satisfying. Yet he still approached him with a matching calm demeanor. There was no doubt that he would pull the trigger if he needed to. He wouldn’t kill him, but he would make him wish he had. In this circumstance he knew his foe far too well just from the short moment he had trapped in his eyes. This man would comply because he had far too much to lose. As soon as he would be able to get into the car they both knew he would know everything about whatever he was hiding. It was the downfall of being trapped in a society. You had to by insurance, insurance requires your address, phone numbers, emergency contacts, and of course other people covered under the insurance as well. His whole life was in that car, and now they both knew it.
Dr. Crane kept a careful watch on him as he stepped backward slightly to open the car door. His expression never changed though his eyes lit with a certain fiendish delight that he was complying with every word. It was giving him a sense of power that he had desperately wanted over him since the moment he was dragged back into that asylum and thrown into a cell. Finally Dr. Arkham made a full turn to pick up VerMillion. He was giving him a step by step walkthrough of what he was going to do. VerMillion wasn’t very heavy, he had picked he up on multiple occasions, sometimes with one hand alone. Dr. Arkham wouldn’t run into difficulty, as long as she remained as she was. People that fainted often didn’t stay that way for very long, it would only take a few minutes before she was conscious again and in the arms of Dr. Arkham she may not be as calm.
Dr. Crane shot him a glare as he spoke, ‘He could have the keys when he got in’….Was he scared? Did he fear that he was going to take the keys from him, shoot him in the legs and then leave him here to wonder about his family? The thought almost brought a smile to his face. Dr. Crane would never leave him here. Leave him and have him miss the glory? He would rather tie him to the back of the vehicle and drag him there, as if he was dragging him to oblivion itself. No, Dr. Arkham had to be there for every moment of his destruction. In response Dr. Crane slowly shook his head, neither of them trusted each other, the way it should always remain.
“Get into the passenger’s side.” He stated coldly and waved the gun from him for a moment to point to the door. It wasn’t more than a second before it was back and centered at his chest. Dr. Crane didn’t often use guns, but he knew how to use one well enough and at this range it would be more difficult to miss. Dr. Crane watched him begin to step slowly to the other side of the vehicle and get into the passenger side. It only took him a moment to get back onto his feet and into the car himself this time through the driver’s side. As soon as he got in the gun was pointed directly at Dr. Arkham’s head. They both knew he wouldn’t kill him here, but he was a very good doctor…A very…good doctor. He knew where to shoot him. Holding the gun in place he barked out another order. “Throw me the keys, underhand.” His other hand placed itself out palm turned upward as if he was ready to catch it.
There was a certain satisfaction that he was able to find within giving orders to Dr. Arkham. For the longest time it had been him taking orders, from him, from society, from the orderlies, and from the police. It was good to be on the other side of the gun for a change and Dr. Crane was basking in every moment of it. Dr. Arkham underhandedly tossed him the keys and he caught them with little effort, immediately inserting them into the ignition. His left hand crept alongside the door until it ran over the lock to lock them all in. It would have been just as easy for Dr. Arkham to unlock everything, but he wasn’t going anywhere.
“Recline your seat.” He sternly spoke out his next order. He knew it would be an odd request but he expected him to follow it as he said. “After you’re done with that, we’re going to trade places.” He continued while glancing back to VerMillion for a moment. He would have to mind her while the seat reclined for both of them. Dr. Crane was intelligent; he wasn’t going to remain in the driver’s seat. It would be difficult to keep a gun aimed at someone’s head while they were also driving….No Dr. Arkham was going to be their chauffer tonight. Threateningly he pushed the gun closer to his temple and waited for him to comply.
|
|
|
|
Post by Heather Glass - VerMillion on Aug 6, 2012 18:06:39 GMT -5
The first sign that Heather's woken back up is when she moans quietly as Dr. Arkham picks her up. This isn't the first time that she's fainted, actually, so though her thoughts are sluggish at first it doesn't take her more than a few moments to realize what must have happened. And she doesn't care at first that she's being carried, not even bothering to check to see who it is. Actually, somewhere in the back of her mind she assumes that it's her father, as for the vast majority of her life that's the only one who would have done so.
Though aside from the sound protesting the pounding in her head, which must have hit the ground when she fell to judge by the headache, she doesn't attempt to do anything. Can't she be unconscious for a few more minutes? Or whenever the worse of this headache is over? She rests like a sack of potatoes in Dr. Arkham's arms, but she's really not that heavy for a supposedly full grown adult - she's a thin, short woman, after all.
It isn't until she's shifted onto some padded surface of some sort that she finally convinces herself that she's got to pull herself back into full consciousness. She wiggles a little on the seat as she moves her limbs to rouse herself, and she becomes aware of the opening and shutting of car doors and a couple of men's voices speaking. Oh, that's Jon's voice! That's enough of a cue for her memory to quickly update her on what happened when she passed out. Some psychiatrist in a parking lot pointing a gun at Jon's head...
Her eyes snap open instantly, though she worries what she might see. Instead she sees that she's now laying in back of what she presumes is Dr. Arkham's car, and that the situation has improved to the point that Jon is now pointing the gun at Dr. Arkham's head. Well, that's good. Though she instantly closes her eyes again and attempts to will herself into passing out for a few more minutes so that whatever is happening can be more finished than it appears to be. No such luck though. At least it appears that Jon has the situation enough in hand that she doesn't feel the need to get up or do anything.
"Note to self: breathing not optional," she mumbles with her eyes still closed, figuring that she ought to at least vocally indicate that she's awake and reasonably aware of what's going on. It will just take her a moment to care about what's going on, given that she already knows that Jon has the upper hand and that's the important part to her.
|
|
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
|
|
Post by Jeremiah Arkham - Black Mask on Aug 14, 2012 18:43:07 GMT -5
Was Jeremiah scared? No, he wasn’t “scared”. He was mortified, inwardly hysterical, but he could only keep his mind clear by continuing to breathe and oddly, thoughts of his family kept him level, from twitching or stumbling as he began to make his way to the passenger side, even before Crane’s order. Yet his browns flickered to Jonathan, darkened with a hate he had never felt before. It was like a black pool that bubbled forth in his chest, pulsating and spreading with every hard pump of his heart. His mouth thinned and his nostrils flared. Was it anger for the tables so easily turned on him? That with nothing more than a gun in his hand and knowledge in his mind that Crane now held all the strings in the situation and until he was aware of how to escape from it, he didn’t want to hide his fury because his fury did what his family and breathing couldn’t. Fear prickled his senses made him aware of the flash of the gun away from him, only settled back on his chest. Fury made him keep focus as his feet crunched over pavement to the passenger side door. He kept his lips clamped shut, resisting the urge to tell Crane that threatening someone who was fully compliant was a waste of brain power, of effort. He knew who held the power, and despise as he did, he hated that Jonathan Crane knew his weakness, hated him for the first time for his obsession.
Because it shouldn’t have been him, but the doctor who had ousted him had fled. Fled in terror. Pathetic.
Dr. Arkham glared out the window, refusing even deem the other man a glance as he got into his commanded seat. He didn’t fasten his seat belt. He didn’t move save to recline in his seat. He heard Heather’s groans and breathing from the backseat. He had felt the stirrings of her regaining consciousness as he’d placed her in the car. It was apparent that she was awake, probably with a nasty headache if he could judge from the sound her skull had made against the street. Yet he didn’t look to her either. He remained centered on the street ahead, the path through the buildings. He heard Crane get into the driver’s seat. He could tell from his periphery that the gun was drawn to his head as soon as Crane had situated himself into the seat, but he was now too angry to give even a wit.
He knew his tormentor was getting a thrill from this. Finally he was in power, controlling the man he wrongly assumed had ruined his life. He refused to acknowledge the role he’d played, never denying it, and merely feeding the hate. The refuse of a wounded pride? Jeremiah certainly held a great amount. He reached into his pocket to extract his keys, eyes only moving from their position after he was finished. His nostrils flared and his eyes crawled to bore into Jonathan’s as he tossed him the keys. Then he was back to glaring straight ahead, unresponsive to the sound their insertion into the console, making no move when he heard the locks thrown. He wasn’t going to anywhere. Jonathan was right, Arkham, seething as he was, wasn’t foolish. Only a fool would attempt to escape now. He had too much to lose and so he simply remained where he was, waiting for the car to start. Yet that never happened, instead Jonathan issued him another order.
"Recline your seat."[/i]
It sounded ludicrous, but the reasoning was revealed swiftly. Jeremiah’s tongue wet the inseam of his lips before they pressed together. He knew where this was going, even if he wished he’d not known. He despised the thought of being driver for Scarecrow and his little pet on principle, but he was further angered at the thoughts that crossed his mind on just want he was driving all three of them towards.
His jaw clenched at the feel of the barrel against his temple, and again his eyes wound to Jonathan’s. Even now he was inventing ways to exact his own revenge, slow and agonizing plans to prove to Crane just how helpless a Scarecrow was without movement. He thought he enjoyed screams, Jeremiah enjoyed power. He felt his own obsession cloud his mind and blinked to dispel it. He reached to the side of the seat to grasp the lever that would allow him to recline. His fingers had just encased it when the woman spoke. It was like ripples on the surface of a pond, it disrupted the moment shortly, but it was enough to make Jeremiah smirk, eyes leaving Jonathan to leer into the black pavement.
“Guess you learned that lesson didn’t you?” He crooned in dark amusement, speaking to Heather as he pressed down the lever.
He pushed his weight against the seat and he began to inch backward. “You know, Crane, it’s rather useless to point a gun when the person is going to submit to your demands. But, I’m glad you’re wary enough of me to think you need it.” He grinned at Jonathan, now watching him as he reclined in the seat. “You probably do, because if you didn’t have the gun, I’d not be here.” He let go of the lever and waited for the exchange to begin.
But, oh just you wait. I’ll rip you open and pluck the straw from your bones, rend your body to shreds just like the Scarecrow you are…[/color]
|
|
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
|
|
Post by Jonathan Crane - Scarecrow on Aug 17, 2012 20:26:48 GMT -5
Dr. Arkham should have eventually expected this from him. Had he really gone all this time not knowing that The Scarecrow was his greatest threat? He had once made it a point never to have any distractions from his research. Many foes got sidetrack by the many vigilantes in the city and made them their motive for destruction. Never with Dr. Crane however, his research was the most important thing, and not even the Batman could move his gaze from it. Only every now and then did he get in the way or become a minor distraction. He tolerated the Batman when he had to and dealt with him only when it was absolutely necessary.
Dr. Arkham on the other hand was a completely different story. This man if he believed in such a thing could be called his arch nemesis. His motivation for going after a single man, tossing his research aside for just a moment. It had happened tonight. He had come here to go to the pharmacy with VerMillion. They were just getting supplies for his toxins, but instead she had ran into Dr. Arkham. His whole method changed completely and his focus changed from one subject to another. This one took priority for one reason and one reason alone. This was all his fault…
They had always avoided talking about the subject for some reason, but they had never discussed what happened that day directly. To Dr. Crane nothing really was wanted or needed to be discussed. Both of them knew exactly what happened, and Dr. Arkham was completely aware of what he had done. He had ripped his life apart, and it was on purpose. He could try to deny it but Dr. Crane knew, just like he could now deny his family but it was far too late. He knew, and he couldn’t escape his fears now….he could never escape his fears.
VerMillion’s groans from the back seat caused him to stir but never take his eyes off of Dr. Arkham. One wrong move could put the gun back in his hands and he knew it. It wasn’t the first time they had both danced with death, not that he could die in the first place. Something told him that even after all that evidence Dr. Arkham still didn’t believe he couldn’t die. What a foolish man…Dr. Crane didn’t answer her even though she had said something from the back seat, he will check to see if she was alright when they got stopped. He did, after all get her involved in something that was much bigger than herself.
Just from his expression alone he could fee all of his fury pouring into the situation. His fear was oozing from every part of him, showing that he was terrified of what was in the car with him. He had every right to be scared, there was no telling what his intentions were at this point. It would have been easy for the family to simply call the police when they arrived, but no….Dr. Jonathan Crane was far more intelligent than that, even if at the moment they were both blinded by rage. Images of the place that he would be dragged back to flashed through his eyes if he failed. No, he wasn’t going to fail and he was never going back to that place. The last time he escaped with Edward was the last time he would ever see those padded walls.
Dr. Crane caught his smirk but his eyes glared at the other doctor’s words toward VerMillion. “Everyone submits to fear in the end doctor…” He interrupted his speech. After the threat He carefully pulled one lanky leg over the console and got over the gear shift. All the while his gun remained on Dr. Arkham’s head never wavering from threatening to pull the trigger and ending the frustration there. It could have all been plunged into the depths of oblivion with just one final pull of the trigger. Unfortunate for Dr. Arkham….he wasn’t meant for a quick embrace.
With a quickly snap Dr. Crane hand slammed into his shoulder to keep him from switching spots with him. He wasn’t going anywhere until he was practically in his lap in the floorboard. There would be no trust here, especially in these closed quarters. Even more reason not to trust him was that he had handled him before. Dr. Crane had been thrown into walls, over tables, through stalls, into sinks, into and out of hallways. When these two were trying to escape each other someone was likely to get hurt, but right now that wasn’t going to happen and he was going to make sure of it. Once Dr. Crane was fully in his lap he gave him plenty of room to slide out and move. Before he started he made sure to slam the end of the barrel to his temple. “Move!” Dr. Crane yelled brutishly, trying to get him into the driver’s seat.
“Then drive….I don’t think I need to tell you where…”
|
|
|
|
Post by Heather Glass - VerMillion on Aug 18, 2012 3:45:28 GMT -5
The words that her comment prompts in return from both men cause Heather to frown. "Oh, shut up," she murmurs irritably, leaving which of their statements, if not both, that she's objecting to completely ambiguous. She supposes that it's too much to ask for her to wake up among people who will be sympathetic to her headache. Then again, at least she's not woken up to find that she's needed to help dispose of another body. Yep, that would be worse.
She's nudged by the seat when it reclines but doesn't pay that any attention. In fact, she doesn't move until she's heard some extended shifting around and opens her eyes to see Jon carefully maneuvering himself over Dr. Arkham. She hadn't been paying any attention when what they're doing was explained, but then again her ability to care about it hasn't quite come back to her. But she does watch, if only because that's the only thing to look at right now and between Dr. Arkham's rambling and Jon's yelling they're not letting her rest. Then again, resting right after a concussion isn't necessarily the best idea anyway - not that's she's about to thank them.
|
|
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
|
|
Post by Jeremiah Arkham - Black Mask on Sept 3, 2012 22:57:54 GMT -5
Expected this? No, Arkham had expected exactly this, but he’d been biding his time hoping to never have to face it. He was not blind to the fact that Jonathan Crane was his greatest threat; Jeremiah knew that he could consider others of an equal threat, but he didn’t. They lacked the personal connection Crane had with him as an employee; they lacked the respect that Jeremiah had afforded the younger man long before their relationship had completely curdled like milk that had been left out too long. Most of his patients were intelligent, cunning, had the ability to find a way to beat him, but they hadn’t had they? No one knew that Jeremiah was a father, a husband, no one knew that he had himself in a position that once entered into, you were never free of. Yet the plain fact was, he was not afraid of any of his patients. He could have been, but they had not the access or the knowledge to tear him apart. They were not obsessed with that very outcome, but Crane was and Arkham was terrified for that very reason. He was the sole reason that Jeremiah had hidden his matrimony, his parenthood. He was conscious of the fact that out of every patient that Arkham held that Crane was the most dangerous to him, but on the opposite side, he also know that he was considered the man’s arch nemesis. It wasn’t Batman, it wasn’t another Rogue. Jeremiah Arkham was the man most loathed and feared by the Scarecrow, even if he was hesitant to admit the first part.
He was the man’s most hated foe? Arkham held an ambivalent view on that. It gave him power on the one hand. He held a sway over Jonathan Crane that no one else had and it was a lie if he did not admit that that knowledge came with a heady feeling, the one a person has when they know they stand at the center of someone’s universe. And stood at that center did he not? He had always held Crane in high esteem, considered him a valued colleague, and was the attention he gained from Crane not a kind of respect? Twisted as it was, the actions and demeanor of the man toward him showed him respect even now for the mere fact that Jonathan viewed him as a worthy opponent.
Arkham realized that just as Crane’s respect for him was twisted, his reasons for being happy about being considered the man’s nemesis were corroded as well. Yet for every pro there was a con, and he had his own misgivings about being an obsession of Jon’s in this light.
Their animosity was built on a scaffold of lies. The reason Jonathan loathed him was a complete and utter fabrication of the man’s mind. Dr. Jeremiah Arkham had not been the harbinger of ruin for the man. He had done nothing that had directly caused the man’s downfall. But he always knew that he was guilty indirectly. His mistake had been taking glee in seeing the other doctors’ envy at Crane, for leaving the keys so accessible for staff to bribe their way to. He had never wanted Crane’s hate, not in the beginning, not now. Especially not now. He had never wished to have Crane loathing, but he would rather have had it solely, but now his family was at risk and Arkham did not have time to be distracted. All his movements, his words had to have a purpose.
Did Crane truly believe that his fury blinded him? Did he think that his fear suddenly caused his brain to slow its process as if gummed by molasses? Crane knew what fear caused, and though, he didn’t like the feeling, it made Arkham hyperaware, but it was feeling he was used to. He was head of Arkham Asylum; he ate the feeling of dread for breakfast, felt sink in his stomach every day, drank it for lunch, and consumed it in every breath. He knew how to work in stress situations, he had to. So was he afraid? Yes, without a single doubt, but he wasn’t helpless. Crane would find that out soon enough. Arkham heard Jonathan’s diatribe about fear, a simple principle, a common concept, and one he could even have considered true, though he knew it smugly aimed at him. Yet he had had no plans to respond to it. Arkham would have moved to the driver’s seat as requested, ignoring Jonathan’s words entirely, but it seemed that the man had decided on a different course of action. His shoulder was forced back, and having the advantage of position and the leverage it afforded, Arkham couldn’t stop him. What he could do, however was speak. And so he made up his mind to respond to his previous, superior declarations as the man deposited himself in his lap.
“Yes, everyone succumbs to fear at the end. Everyone. Even you.” He met the man’s gaze, and though his lips lifted not into a smirk, his eyes gleamed with it. “Just admit it, Crane. You’re just as afraid of me. Afraid because of what you assume I’ve done to you and if I’ve destroyed you once, I can do it again, you think. And I can do it better. You know that and so you’re afraid.”
In that moment and those following until Jonathan spoke again, Arkham recalled all he had done to Crane while in the asylum, while both were attempting to overpower, deflect, and defend against the other. Just as he had been assailant throwing, forcing, harming Crane, Arkham rarely escaped without damage too. Bruises, scratches, he’d been given a concussion, almost broken bones. He’d learned each time more about his opponent and he knew the opposite was true as well. Arkham knew how much damage he could do in such a small space: the velocity of throwing Crane’s head against the window would be brutal—he could already hear the sickening crack of his skull echoing in his head. It’d hurt more than anything Jeremiah had done to him before for the sheer damage and pain that would blossom from the attack. It was beyond tempting he could taste the want to do it on his tongue, feel in the twitch of his muscles, but just as he was too good for a quick embrace with oblivion in Jonathan’s eyes, the moment he was pistol whipped on the temple, Jonathan became too good for the physical assault he’d been contemplating.
Arkham’s chest shook. He chuckled in humorless laughter, consumed by nothing but rage. His eyes flew up to Jonathan’s. Ice blue and dark brown met. He smirked a tight, wiry grin, his chuckle still in his voice. He leaned forward in the scant space between them, rolling his neck on shoulders. He was uncaring about the gun. He knew that Crane wouldn’t shoot him, not fatally. It was an empty threat and always had been.
Jeremiah licked his lips, “Move?” He questioned. “How? You mean away to the steering wheel?” He knew that was what was meant, but he couldn’t help it. This was suddenly what his world consisted of, but it was not without purpose, nothing he did was without purpose. That was a similarity between him and Jonathan. “You mean to drive, or did you mean to move as in…”
He let his voice trail off, and if it was possible his sneer became a sinister leer. With the slowest of movements, Jeremiah pressed his hips against Jonathan’s and ground against him. “With the girl watching? I should have known you were into this sort of thing.” His last statement was spoken in a raspy whisper as he brought himself close enough to speaking into Crane’s ear. He paused only a moment after that for effect before, “Too bad I have to drive.”
Yet he didn’t give Jonathan time to react to that, instead he simply moved to extract himself, glancing back to Heather as he heaved himself over the gearshift and into the driver’s seat.
“I’d sit up and buckle up if I were you, dear.” He suggested to her, as he moved to do exactly that for himself, adjusting the seat first.
He may not have needed to be told where to drive, but he also had no intention of getting there with them. He never had. Not from the beginning. He flexed his fingers, placed them on the steering wheel. Arkham glanced at the clock in the dashboard.
Then he slammed his foot on the gas.
|
|
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
|
|
Post by Jonathan Crane - Scarecrow on Sept 10, 2012 10:39:04 GMT -5
With Dr. Arkham at this proximity he could barely contain his excitement. There was a borderline grind behind his features, only suppressed by the seriousness kept to show him he would pull the trigger. He had him, this could be the moment, THIS should be the moment. The one slip in time in this world that would be his greatest accomplishment outside of his research. He would have Dr. Arkham tonight, make him suffer in front of his family and then watch each of them slowly die. Then he could have his crawling painful torture, until Dr. Crane was so satisfied with his blood he was nearly drowning in it.
The image in his mind was very clear of what he wanted to happen. It was an image that VerMillion probably wouldn’t have approved of, or wanted anything to do with. That didn’t matter to him however, even though it had crosses his mind. He would shake it off like it was nothing. The Batman didn’t approve of what he did either but he paid him no mind. No Dark Knight was going to swoop in and save him now. Dr. Crane avoided Batman when he could, and didn’t follow him or track him down for any reason. The Batman was merely an annoyance, Dr. Arkham gave the wolf a reason to hunt.
It wasn’t always this way between them. They didn’t always have this unbreakable desire to be at each other’s throats but the tension was always there. Back before he was arrested he could remember a certain scene where it was just another day. The mundane in’s and out’s of the Asylum were running like normal but Dr. Crane was in a particularly bad mood. He stalked down the halls in his lab coat quickly headed for Dr. Arkham’s office. He went inside and passed up his secretary completely. She never said a word to him and he had never said a word to her, he planned to keep it that way. Somewhere along the line she had discovered he was going to let himself in anyway.
Dr. Crane busted through the door and laid his reports on Dr. Arkham’s desk. He paid no mind to anything that he may have been working on, or anything that was in front of him already. He didn’t say a word at first, just glaring down at him with his iced over eyes in a cold stare. Dr. Arkham had previously looked over his reports and had made little quirks and comments of his own, corrections of how things should or shouldn’t have been done. It was criticism, something that Dr. Crane believed to be above. Dr. Arkham casually looked up from his work that now been covered by Dr. Crane’s. They had been through this dance before. He never did like having anyone correct him or write anything in the margins of his research, his research was perfect the first time.“Something you need to speak to me about, Jonathan?” He asked with a reluctance in his voice doing the same dance again.
Dr. Crane stared at him for another moment, trying to let him redeem himself in some way. Surely there was some explanation for him writing anything on his work that wasn’t absolutely false. After a moment of silence he came to the realization that there was not. With that thought in mind he picked up the papers that he had thrown on the desk, hooking what Dr. Arkham was working on previously as well, and dropped them all into the shredder side the desk. “Nothing a all..” He replied before turning around to walk out. That wasn’t all that had happened in that instant…but it was all his memory was going to allow him to go over at this time. The part where he was the obvious victor.
Their interactions and tensions were mild at best back then; they could even hold a decent conversation in the break room at times. Were they friends once? Dr. Crane believed it all to be a lie, they had never been friends. Dr. Arkham had used him, drew him close to take his methods and use his theory….then feed him to the dogs when he became too intimidating. No…They were never friends.
Dr. Arkham had made a fatal mistake when he began to speak. He wasn’t afraid, HE WAS FEAR. The last time he was filled with this much rage he was being drug out of the Asylum. Only this man could bring this kind of emotional anger out of him. His blood was going to come to a boil, his eyes flared with a temper unbound. He should strike him with the hilt of the gun right now. No one but this man could make the Scarecrow senselessly act in violence. It was true…Dr. Arkham had ruined him….but he hadn’t destroyed him. He was bluffing, there was nothing that he could destroy now. What did he have left but his research? And he could never rip that from him.
Killing him right now wouldn’t be difficult, he should kill him right now. If he would bring himself to just end it he could have his glory right here. Dr. Crane could beat him with the butt of the gun until his face was nothing more but bare bone. Even so, it wouldn’t have been good enough. But when Dr. Arkham defiantly leaned forward toward him, he wanted it to be good enough.
His quips and jests were pathetic, Dr. Crane would have just brushed them off and ignored them if he were able. In this situation he dared to make a comment in response but he had dashed the thought immediately with his presence. When his hips came against his, his eyes widened. Confusion flooded into his Iris as he began to speak, barely able to focus on both actions at the same time. What was going on? The girl watching?...VerMillion can’t see him like this, he had to do something. As much as his mind tried to throw out the thought immediately he couldn’t kept running over several sequences in his head. What else could he have done all of those times that he was passed out at the asylum?
Paranoia…His mind told him simply but didn’t want to accept it. Dr. Arkham was trying to mess with his head and for the moment it was working. He couldn’t get the images of what could have happened out of his mind. Dr. Crane was stuck still in his seat as his foe climbed off of him and plopped himself into the driver seat. The moment was soaking in throughout the car, none more so than in the doctors mind. Finally, anger had flooded back into his eyes. He wasn’t going to do this to him and get away with it. He turned just as Dr. Arkham had told VerMillion to buckle up and leapt from his seat to strangle, hit, or do something to violently attack him.
The gas was punched and he hands immediately stopped himself in between both seats. The gun had tipped and dropped into the back seat with VerMillion just because of the physical force it took to stop himself. His hands pinned himself nicely between both of the head rests, but he had nearly made it into the back himself. The doctor struggled to get back into the passenger’s seat and asses the situation. He was insane! Though this came to no surprise. “How quickly do you want to die?” He barked at Dr. Arkham as they raced through the street. He rose his hand to point the gun back at his head….before he realized it was no longer in his hand.
|
|