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Post by Heather Glass - VerMillion on Sept 10, 2012 15:15:10 GMT -5
Though her thoughts are still as thick as pudding, when she sees what Dr. Arkham does to Jon, the sudden flare up of anger does much to get her mind back to working. "You're sick!" she says, disgusted - you just don't treat Jon like that! But she's not currently in a position to do anything about it, still lying in the back seat with her head pounding.
Yet when Dr. Arkham suggests that she move, she only hesitates for a moment before attempting to comply - sitting up causes her headache to increase by quite a bit, but she can somewhat see where this is going. But though she doesn't quite have her seat-belt on when the car abruptly accelerates, given that she's already sitting against the back seat when it happens that's not a big deal for her. She only has to wait for the initial force to ease up before she clicks her seat-belt into place.
Then, as Jon is sorting himself out, she notices that the gun has fallen near her. Hmm, not good. She picks it up - she doesn't remember ever holding a gun before, though of course pretty much everyone knows the basics of how they work. There's a moment of hesitation as she tries to decide what to do with it, but then she slides forward as much as the slack of her seat-belt will allow. Her left arm reaches forward to wrap around Dr. Arkham just below his neck to help keep him steady, as she rests the barrel of the gun against his head.
"Slow down, and don't try anything like that again," she says. Her voice is definitely not calm - it's full of anger, the pain of her pounding head, emotional exhaustion, and even a slight bit of confusion since all the cobwebs have yet to be cleared from the concussion - but it's just steady enough to hint that he can't hope that she's too shaken to pull the trigger. Quite the opposite, actually - she's quite prepared to do so if she thinks that she has to.
...And that thought terrifies her. Her eyes glance fleetingly over at Jon, rather freaked out and silently begging for help, though she knows that it's better for her to keep her attention on Dr. Arkham right now. Yet her arm shifts a little to make it easier for Jon to take the gun if he wants to. And though she's willing to keep doing this if Jon wants her to, she'd really, really rather not.
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Jeremiah Arkham - Black Mask
"All my life... I have been dancing on the edge of madness."
Player: Jere ~
Registered On: Mar 26, 2012 22:05:58 GMT -5 ~
Posts: 314
~ Relationship Status: The More the Merrier
~ Character Profile
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Post by Jeremiah Arkham - Black Mask on Sept 26, 2012 3:02:03 GMT -5
How quickly did he want to die? What a question. Who wanted to die in the first place? That was a better question. Jeremiah didn’t want to perish at all, but he’d thought on his death certainly. He was a doctor after all, he was around it constantly: patients died, accidents happened, he treated the dying. Everyone died. Yet in consideration for this very moment, given the choice of sacrificing his mortality or his family’s, he choose his every time. He would and could die for them, he’d not need a moment to decide that: it was a decision he’d made long ago. Yet that wasn’t the choice he was making now. His actions—foot pressing the gas to the floor, knuckles gripping the steering wheel—were not an attempt at suicide or homicide. He had no plans to die.
None ever do, though, Jerry.[/i]
He also knew that thought intimately. It was true. Plans changed, plans didn’t work out. Life was cruel and sometimes no matter how hard you worked to see the best outcome you’d never wrap your fingers around it. There was no guarantee of how this night would end, and that was a thought that Jeremiah was more than uncomfortable with. One had to be looking for it to note that his hands tightened even further against the leather-like material of wheel, knuckles becoming even whiter. None ever do.[/i] The thought was like a raspy echo—grating and disintegrating into a tinny, sardonic chuckle. His face turned down. There was no room for sarcasm to be piled against him by himself. He had to stay focused. Focused. He was focused, absolutely tuned to this environment and the inner commentary he on occasion was liable to fall into only helped to further his grounding. He was coping. If he wasn’t then his actions would have been more reckless. He would have actually been attempting to murder them all, but no, that wasn’t his intention.
Not that intention was of any merit when there was a gun held to your head. Only he knew his intent—of course no one else would understand—but that doesn’t stop the emotions that seethe forth.
It was his experience that kept him controlled when Heather wraps an arm around his neck and his gun is for the nth time forced to his temple. He’d been all for ignoring what she’d said in his transition to the driver’s seat, but now he couldn’t help but listen. He did so carefully, face pinched in a grimace, eyes boring into the street ahead. He wanted to scream at her, beg her. He wanted to slam the brakes and pray she smashed through the window with her partner in the passenger seat.
Isaiah was only four, he was at home alone, and Heather didn’t understand. She couldn’t even begin to understand the gravity of loathing that Jonathan held for him. Did she think she was taking them to dinner? That the occasion was going to be quick? No, what it would be was slow, agonizing with Jonathan smirking at him with those blue eyes receding into darkness. And his son’s screams, his shrieks. Arkham could hear Isaiah begging for him to do something, anything to save him, but knowing he’d be able to do nothing. Jeremiah suspects that if allowed to make it to his home Jonathan would make sure he was helpless to do anything to save his son. Heather didn’t understand that his son would be a lamb sacrificed to atone for the sins of the father. He was will be used and discarded to torture him.
Arkham had never doubted Jonathan’s threat: the man would take everything from him without a second’s thought.
Jeremiah wanted, no needed to tell Heather this. He needed to curse her ignorance, ask if she was ready to commit infanticide or to stand by and do nothing while a child was murdered. A child. But he said nothing at first. Unlike Jonathan, Jeremiah believed that Heather would pull the trigger. She wasn’t bluffing.
He didn’t look to Jonathan in that moment, his eyes staring straight ahead. He removed his foot from the gas, but only hovered it over the brake.
“You already watched a man die tonight, what’s a child, right?” He questioned venomously, letting his pain and anguish be known. What was a child? Then again what was he? If he wasn’t there to witness it, where would the satisfaction of Jonathan be? He’d have none: his imagined enemy not there to witness the punishment. Jeremiah could feel Heather’s anxiety, he could hear it in the waver of her voice. Feel it in the way she held him, arm across his neck. He even knew it in the way she ever so slightly tried to pull the gun away and pass it to Jonathan.
His face left all emotion behind. “Pull the trigger, Ms. Glass.” He said. “Call me weak, but you’d be doing me a favor. Do it. Take another life, it gets easier the more you do it, it easier to watch too. It’s like watching a candle flicker out.” Then he smiled. “You’re in over your head. You have no idea what you’ve entered into when we had our chance meeting just moments ago.” His voice was stronger. “Pull the trigger. It’s the only way to end this once and for all. You know it too, deep in your gut you know that.”
The car was still barreling down the street, Jeremiah only allowing it to coast. He wasn’t hitting the brake. He wouldn’t slow down them down unnaturally. They could do it slowly, steadily. Heather got her wish. For now.
She should have been grateful he’d not gone with his urge to just immediately slammed the brake.
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Jonathan Crane - Scarecrow
"and at the end of fear...Oblivion"
Player: Jon ~
Registered On: Feb 15, 2012 20:39:14 GMT -5 ~
Posts: 941
~ Relationship Status: Won't Say I'm In Love
~ Partner: Fear
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Post by Jonathan Crane - Scarecrow on Oct 8, 2012 22:11:34 GMT -5
There wasn’t much Dr. Crane could do as he got his bearings and watched the gun as it was placed against his foe’s head. If there was any air in the car to begin with it was now gone. The fiery orange of her hair stood out against the light of the street as it passed by, shadows flowing over her face as they proceeded forward. Her fear in the situation was immediately present, but like any mammal, reacting in fear made you dangerous.
This was not okay, no one got this privilege. Only he was allowed to end Dr. Arkham’s life and VerMillion was no exception to this rule. The determination and fear in her eyes, the shakiness of her voice was enough to let him know that she would pull the trigger, she was going to if he didn’t comply. In the moment that he could lose the opportunity, the world seemed to go still, even if the car was still moving at a fast pace. She had no idea what losing that opportunity meant to him. How could she? He had never told her about anything that happened between them and until this moment it didn’t matter.
Would it have changed what she would do? Dr. Crane adjusted himself quickly back into the passenger’s seat, as he had come out of it with the sharp jolt. He got back into his seat just as the doctor began to make his speech. One thing he’d never admit to aloud, was that the man had an ability to talk people down. Not only had he heard his stories before about talking a man into killing himself, but he had also seen his charisma himself. He had also seen him prevent oblivion, talking many inmates out of suicide. The man was influential and he was a good speaker, something that VerMillion was used to, but this was different.
Dr. Crane kept silent as VerMillion’s eyes turned to look at him nervously. He kept silent and began to move his hand slowly toward her. His foe continued to speak, trying to get his way in this situation where the odds were clearly against him. He needed to give in, he needed to give up and get this over with. No matter how hard he fought or how far he ran fear would follow him, fear would hunt him and eventually fear would claim him. His palm turned toward the roof of the car extended to her trying to encourage her to lift it from his head. His long boney fingers moved toward her and the weapon. He just wanted her to give him the gun; she didn’t have to take that responsibility onto herself.
Dr. Arkham began to speak again but this time he had a much darker, much more sinister tone behind his voice. It seemed like he could talk others in and out of suicide but he couldn’t talk himself out of his own affliction. While the hunter talked, tried to buy himself time and stall the best he could, the wolf began to influence VerMillion with his own words. “Give me the gun VerMillion.” He spoke softly at first just aimed toward her with his lips and his hand. His hand was still welcoming and inviting for her to crawl out of the trap she had set up for herself. “It’s alright..” His voice beckoned again for the gun to go into the palm of his hand. One wrong move and he could have her accidentally pull the trigger. “Give me the gun…” He repeated softly.
When his hand came close enough he raised his voice to match Dr. Arkham’s volume, attempting to speak over him. “Just listen to the sound of my voice not his. You don’t have to listen to a word he says and you don’t have to do this…Let me do it” Despite the tense situation Dr. Crane kept as calm and as normal as ever. One of the traits that VerMillion had spoken aloud that she enjoyed about him. Being calm in a frantic situation was usually because he was the thing to be feared. He was fear itself and he was in control. Just like this situation…He Will Be In Control.
The car finally began to decrease in speed and Dr. Crane kept his voice going trying to influence her with his words. Perhaps she would focus on him, even though she took a rather rough faint and hit to the ground earlier. Waking up the way she did was probably confusing enough, let alone what was going on now. There was no time to explain and no time to talk to her about it; he needed the gun now before Dr. Arkham decided to take it himself. He had witnessed him do greater feats from behind. Once he had even thrown him over his own body and onto a desk. The man was strong, there was no doubt in that, but Dr. Crane believed his own mind to be far more superior.
Carefully his hand slipped over VerMillion’s, giving her the touch she may have needed to ease her urges to fire. He tried to take the gun from her and slip it back into his own control. “You’re eager to meet your family in oblivion tonight aren’t you doctor?” The wolf growled out from behind him, believing he may actually have a chance to get the gun from VerMillion before he tried to. Luckily his hands were still on the wheel. As his hand came over her’s to try and settle it it felt like the oxygen was slowly reentering the car.
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Post by Heather Glass - VerMillion on Oct 9, 2012 18:13:16 GMT -5
When Dr. Arkham takes his foot off the gas, Heather feels her tension wavering slightly. Ah, he's listening, good! What he says, though, makes her immediately frown. She doesn't want to be reminded of what happened earlier this evening, and she doesn't want to have a repeat performance of that. In fact, very little of what she wants has been happening for the past couple of hours. She certainly doesn't want to kill Dr. Arkham - he hasn't really done anything to her except do things to Jon that she objects to - and she doesn't at all appreciate his apparent attempt to goad her into doing so.
So when she hears Jon asking for the gun, a weary sort of relief crosses her face when the words register. She keeps her eyes on Dr. Arkham, not trusting him not to try something, and she keeps the gun pointed at him as she pulls it a little away so that she can hand it to Jon as seamlessly as possible. But it's Dr. Arkham that she speaks to first. "I don't care what you want; I don't want to kill you," she says, adding frustration to the many other feelings bouncing around in her head.
And she really doesn't. The man's life really doesn't hold that much value to her, but she's not normally a violent person - at least when she doesn't feel like she has to protect herself - and even though she's never killed anyone before she knows that she would take absolutely no pleasure in it. As far as she's concerned she sees no reason why the man should die as long as he refrains from driving like a maniac. Then again, Jon's never told her anything about him.
The moment that she feels the weight of the gun leave her hand, she also releases her hold on Dr. Arkham and pushes herself back into her seat. And her attention shifts to Jon as she adds, "I want to go home." Not that she expects him to do anything about that but, for the record, that's what she wants right now. Quite badly, actually, but exactly how much does what she wants count for right now?
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Jeremiah Arkham - Black Mask
"All my life... I have been dancing on the edge of madness."
Player: Jere ~
Registered On: Mar 26, 2012 22:05:58 GMT -5 ~
Posts: 314
~ Relationship Status: The More the Merrier
~ Character Profile
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Post by Jeremiah Arkham - Black Mask on Nov 8, 2012 4:47:28 GMT -5
Calm and collected. As if Jonathan was the only one capable of it. Jeremiah showed nothing on his face as the gun and subsequently Heather’s grip was removed. There was no line of satisfaction to curl through his lips, no furrow of sorrow or panic to crease his brow. There was absolutely no line of any emotion on his face. The only noise he made was a breath that followed the release of his neck. He simply turned his head and squared his shoulders. His face tensed in concentration and that was it. But he knew what this situation was and Jonathan was lying. He was wrong. ‘Okay’ was no way to describe it. This situation was not okay for any of them and it would not end okay for one, if not all of them. Every single one of them up to this point just made it worse, perhaps were still acerbating the situation. How maddening. How just absolutely maddening. Jeremiah lifted one hand from the wheel and delved into his pocket. The car still coasted slower as he pulled an open pack of cigarettes from with his coat.
“Eagerness and willingness to meet one’s own end are two separate cognitions,” he spoke tapping the pack on the steering wheel to loosen one of the butts before bringing the pack to his lips to tease the end into his mouth and pull the object into his mouth. "No man is eager to meet his end, not in the beginning; not when faced with the truth of his mortality. In fact there's even a social psychological theory about humankind and its way of coping with the anxiety produced by the thought of our inevitability. Terror Management Theory." His eyes rose from the road to glance first in the rearview mirror at Heather before continuing to land on Jonathan. There his attention stayed as he pressed the lighter in the car dashboard. Then he was focused on the road. "It's a theory that states that there various processes through which people deal with the debilitating knowledge of their impending death. Fairly common processes too, in fact. Much of it is common sense when you really think about it."
The lighter clicked and he removed it from its hold and brought the red-hot end to the tip of his cigarette, puffing until the end smoldered and smoked. He replaced the lighter in the console. "Religion is one of them," He took a drag and spoke around the butt. "The belief that it is only their physical selves, their bodies, that will perish, but that their actual selves, their souls will not and that they will pass into another plane of existence. Another is through believing that though they die, they will leave something behind." He took the object from his lips and tapped it into one of the cup holders that he used as an ashtray. "Of course, I'm speaking of children, grandchildren...In fact, when reminded of death, most people express a need to have more children. Humans," Arkham breathed out a long plume of smoke, "cling to these beliefs and the belief that their institutions: Christianity, America, freedom, for example will live on. They comfort themselves in that they have met society's standards or perhaps have even succeeded them." The car had now slowed to a normal speed and Arkham replaced his foot to the gas gently. "I don't believe in God, I would love that my children succeed me, but despite that I didn't think 'I want something to continue on after my death' when I had my two sons. I do ponder...was an unconscious thought when I decided to make children? An unconscious need to quell my fear of death? Or a thought that occurs only after the fact, influencing a want for more offspring?" He lifted his shoulders and let them fall in a casual shrug. "Life is just full of these sorts of questions, but it is not without its certainties as well." The car throughout had continued to maintain its speed.
"One such certainly is that I am nowhere eager to neither die nor join my family in such, for I am not eager to see them dead, but willing," he grinned and turned his head to Jonathan, staring into his face. "I am willing. I'm willing to die for them, in their place, willing to die to take from you that satisfaction. How empty taking my family from me would be if I was not here to have it taken. Then it would just such a waste, wouldn't it?" He gave Jonathan a mock grimace of sympathy which was then gone then replaced by a neutral expression once again. "Which brings me to my other certainty." Eyes went back to the road ahead. "When one cares not for the plight of the other, why should that self-same other care in turn? Earlier, Ms. Glass, I would have had been an all too willing sympathetic party with your want, but now that I see how little you actually understand the complex negotiations taking place, how blindly you simply follow...I find no sympathy for you." He tilted his head in her direction, but made no move to look at her either by turning his head or glancing into the rearview mirror. He did, however, move to roll down his window in order to rid the car of the cigarette smoke. He raised his voice to speak over the rush of air into the cab, but his voice is still easy. "I don't care what you[/b] want either. You should know you won't just be going home. It's not that simple."[/color]
His words popped and for a moment he said nothing more as he smoked and drove, car sailing smoothly over pavement and through intersections, even obeying traffic laws, going just ten miles above the speed limit. Then Jeremiah flicked the butt out of the open window and the glass rolled shut once. The noise of the passing wind suddenly gone. His eyes scan the street.
Empty.
He took a deep breath and raised a hand to rub his jaw. He could feel the prick of hairs against the pads of his fingers. His tongue ran over his upper lip before he sucked it against his teeth. He lifted his foot from the gas pedal.
"I really wish I kept my cigarette." He commented and his fingers tighten on the steering wheel. "And I'm amazed at the both of you. I told you to buckle up." He clucked his tongue.
He jammed his foot again on the gas. Feeling the jolt of acceleration before he counted to five. Then he slammed his foot on the brake.
The seatbelt locked against his chest and he hissed and winced. There would be bruises there come the morrow, but if this worked, they would have been worth it. Any injury would have been worth it.
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Jonathan Crane - Scarecrow
"and at the end of fear...Oblivion"
Player: Jon ~
Registered On: Feb 15, 2012 20:39:14 GMT -5 ~
Posts: 941
~ Relationship Status: Won't Say I'm In Love
~ Partner: Fear
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Post by Jonathan Crane - Scarecrow on Nov 14, 2012 9:25:57 GMT -5
She was always a stubborn girl. Even in their first encounter she had put up a bit of a fuss that was bold for someone of her knowledge of him. Thinking she could run away from him just added for his need to pursue and grab her while she screamed in agony, even if it wasn’t a physical scream, he could see it inside from the moment she ran for her door. Of course now she had calmed down some, and even in the car, shakily holding the gun she exhibited some form of a false bravery. But it was all part of his fascination and general use for her. Though there were several reasons why he kept her around. It was unfortunate that she was wrapped into this situation that she knew nothing about, but he wasn’t going to give up his chance.
She voiced her protests to it – the words ‘I want to go home’ echoing in his mind. It was interesting that she said that now, considering the place they dwelled in and the small room he’d given her ‘home’. Dr. Crane never considered anywhere home, because he rarely stayed in a place for long enough to do so. This place had become quite cosey for both of them, as cosey as a lab could be. For the doctor, wherever his work was, wherever his research led him, was home. He could always find his own peace in his world and sink away from the one that society tried to create for him. It seemed that slowly…she was coming to the same conclusion, making peace with where she was and the situation she was in. It couldn’t have been for any other reason rather than she was captive…
Now holding the gun firmly in his hand, he placed it near Dr. Arkham’s head, ready to fire if he needed to. A short glance was given to VerMillion after her protest and he shook his head in response. “We can go home, just as soon as I’m finished..” He assured her that they would be leaving and going home sometime tonight. Then she could try to wipe her fears away and wash all the blood that was on her hands tonight.
Of course Dr. Arkham continued to find ways to annoy him. The calm pull of his cigarette was enough of a signal that he was about to go on one of his long meaningless rants. It wouldn’t be the first, as they were often handed out at the asylum. Pointless meetings and pointless lectures on his work and the work of others underneath him. Dr. Crane couldn’t take critism from any side because his work was the truth and his work was perfect, it didn’t need critique or comment it was perfect just the way it was and his idle comments didn’t do anything to add to his work. In fact it only hindered, and hindered it’s ability to be taken seriously – Which is why they were promptly shredded, even if it had taken him weeks to write.
The smoke rising into his face only added insult to injury as he spoke. How was this man still living? As a doctor he should have known better. The more he began to speak through the smoke the more fury rose within Dr. Crane. Yes….The Terror Management theory, he had gone over it many times but the truth was it was false. Not even close to his truth that he had discovered. What Dr. Arkham seemed like he was really doing was trying to coax or trigger a secret in him that he had kept from him for many years now, and it would stay so. With that Dr. Crane barely reacted to his words, only pulling his should and tilting his chin slightly in disgust. “I’m not in need for another false lecture doctor…You really should have sat in on some of mine..” He pressed the barrel to his head and drug it through the soft follicles of his hair. Not that he would have understood any of them…The doctor just didn’t have the capability.
The mention of his true family came into light and this, was what gave Dr. Crane pause. His fingers waggled on the trigger like he had just been given a present for the first time. Not only one child to torment, but two. Two children that he could rip apart in front of the doctors eyes. There was two flesh and blood sons that he could pick apart as he wished….Oh how the doctor would suffer…. Maybe he would make him do it? Let him suffer at his own hands because of him? He needed to suffer for what he had done, and only the Ultimate suffering would appease his way into the sweet embrace that was oblivion….and even in its embrace…Dr. Crane would make sure he never found peace.
He had really drolled on too much about everything, the only words that had fascinated him were those about his sons. His mind couldn’t move away from it, even as he moved and rolled down the window to toss out the cigarette he didn’t respond. Dr. Crane should have been watching his every action, but the opportunity to have him forever was focused right in front of him. It was almost as if someone was talking to him, and that’s what he was solely focused on. But with his last statement his eyes finally caught forward. The car suddenly jerked him back and nearly sent him into the back seat with VerMillion yet again. He just barely climbed forward before he felt himself no longer needing to use his muscles to accomplish this.
The windshield came toward him and an amazing speed. Dr. Crane’s lanky limbs went mid air and he just managed to curl himself. A shatter of glass went everywhere and he flew off the hood and rolled onto the black pavement below. The gun had gotten around his head just in time for him to protect himself going through the glass, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t bleeding. Dr. Crane laid still on the ground on several moments, he had to concentrate. The doctors eyes blinked once….twice…The world was slowly coming back into focus and a mixture smell of blood and tar filled is nostrils. Where was he? What had happened? Finally he groaned and tried to push himself up, just barely able to move. The headlights from the vehicle caught his attention as he hunched over, fingers still on the street. He had went through that….A strange sensation came over him as he stared into the light, and he touched his fingers to his forehead. His fingers pull back to rub the large amounts of blood that was dripping down his face.
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Post by Heather Glass - VerMillion on Nov 14, 2012 23:58:25 GMT -5
Sitting back into her seat, Heather frowns a little at Jon's words but otherwise doesn't react. She clearly had meant that she wanted to go home now and not after whatever it is that Jon wants to do, but since she's not prepared to argue with anyone about it and knows that she would lose the argument anyway she doesn't see the point of protesting. Instead she finds herself looking out the window, sulking a bit.
If she listens at all to what Dr. Arkham is saying, she shows no sign of it. The situation seems to have stabilized, so she relaxes a bit. She needs that, really, as her head is still pounding and her emotions are very raw. But her eyes go back to the two men when Jon says something, though it's not for her. Watching them now, she finds her mind strangely empty. Perhaps it's a coping mechanism for her to simply not think very much right now - it's definitely preferable than trying to figure out how she feels about what Jon wants to do to Dr. Arkham's family.
Though when Dr. Arkham talks to her directly, her thoughts are stirred a little. Not much, but he'd see a somewhat tense frown on her face through the rear view mirror before her eyes shift back to the window. She doesn't care that he doesn't care about her. In fact, if you were to ask her then he's the one who didn't care first. Well, maybe he did, but he obviously cares more about his family and himself than her, and in this situation that level of care counts for practically nothing.
In fact, the frown is more about his comment on her blindly following Jon than it is about his lack of sympathy for her. She may follow him, but she doesn't follow him blindly! ...Or at least she's pretty sure that she doesn't. And in any event, Dr. Arkham couldn't even begin to understand the bond she has with Jon, especially if he's going to condemn her so quickly. Is it really so hard for him to understand that she trusts Jon more than him?
In fact, her statement of her wishes while not under brave toxin is a sign of her trust. When she first met Jon she would certainly have said no such thing for fear of upsetting him. It was only after being drugged and living with him for awhile that she began to realize that he wouldn't harm her for something so little. She still believes that it would be dangerous for her to really push him, but bit by bit her fear of him is easing and her trust is growing. Instead, without fully realizing it, she has become far more afraid of being apart from him - her whole sense of security has become dependent on him. So of course she doesn't care about what Dr. Arkham wants - he simply can't compete with that.
She's quite abruptly pulled from her thoughts when the car suddenly accelerates, having missed Dr. Arkham's words that might have provided her any warning. Though for her, at least, that's not a problem since her seatbelt is keeping her in place. And she's doubly thankful that she put it on a moment later when the force is reversed as Dr. Arkham slams on the breaks. The violent shifting of the vehicle and the sound of shattering glass causes her to scream without realizing it, and she reflexively turns her face away from the front in case anything flying around in the vehicle comes in her direction.
Turning back only when she feels the car stop, she notes immediately that Jon is no longer in the front seat but as her mind isn't functioning as well as it normally does at the moment it takes her a few seconds to realize what happened. "JON?!?" she cries out when she sees him on the road ahead of them, instantly releasing her seatbelt and throwing the door open before rushing over to him. Badly shaken for more than one reason, she stumbles a bit as she runs but manages to keep her feet under her until she reaches him.
Fortunately, she can see that he's already starting to stir before she gets there. Though when she does, she doesn't seem to know what to do - she reaches out as if to touch him, but they withdraw before they do. Mostly her focus is to simply quickly look him over to verify that he's still in one piece and not too badly hurt. "Oh my God, Jon, are you okay?" she asks, extremely concerned but far too panicked to be able to think, "I don't know what to do! What do you need?"
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Jeremiah Arkham - Black Mask
"All my life... I have been dancing on the edge of madness."
Player: Jere ~
Registered On: Mar 26, 2012 22:05:58 GMT -5 ~
Posts: 314
~ Relationship Status: The More the Merrier
~ Character Profile
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Post by Jeremiah Arkham - Black Mask on Dec 14, 2012 8:23:21 GMT -5
His heart was slamming too fast against his chest to count the time he spent there in them. Blood was rushing past his ears and an unsettling weight held his chest down. It wasn’t the sting of the seatbelt, nor had he hit the steering wheel. The car was no longer in moment and the only sounds Jeremiah heard at first was. He heard nothing. But he felt. He felt strongly and he hated what he felt. His eyes stared, blown wide at the windshield. They seemed to absorb every crack in the glass. The web almost spread across the entire pane. Then there was actual hole. Stained in the crimson of blood, Jeremiah’s eyes took it in too. It was hard to believe that someone had actually flown through that. And he hated the feeling that realization gave him.
Jonathan had flown through that window. He’d thrown him through a window and not only that, he’d enjoyed it. Enjoyed feeding that blackened monster called Rage and Cruelty that slithered through his veins. That man had threatened his family, his sons. Those two were his reason for living and the quickest way to end up with a bounty. If Jonathan wanted hate that would be what got it for him. Because until that moment, he hadn’t hated Jonathan. And Jeremiah’s hate manifested in much the same way Jonathan’s did, learning what he valued the most and slowly tearing them away one by one. Yet, he understood why Jonathan wanted to rip his family away. He knew just was much as he knew his own hate.
It was just too bad that everything the man wanted blood for was a lie.
And Jeremiah didn’t hate Jonathan, not yet or at least not completely. No he didn’t want to kill anything Jonathan might hold precious, but there was a part of him that wanted to make the threat, take some action to show Jonathan that he’d begun a game that could and would regret. Hating him falsely, one thing. Going after his family. How typical and how he’d up the stakes now. Somehow, but right now he had to deal with the present. His rage surrounding that man was being paired with another thread of feelings: fear, regret, worry, care. He was afraid that he’d finally done it. Finally ended Jonathan’s life. That terrified him. It also satisfied him and he wasn’t certain which he wanted more: seeing Jonathan’s lifeless body in the glare of his headlights or actually seeing him walking away. Had he not threatened his family, Jeremiah thought he’d have wanted to see Jonathan walk away without a second thought to that. He’d not even be here in this situation, which would have negated even the need to feel that emotion or these conflicting ones. None of this would be happening.
Right?
There was an uncomfortable twist in his gut. He was disgusted that there was a part of him that wanted Jonathan to still be breathing. He was disgusted that that part of him might have actually been bigger than the part that hoped he was a stain on the cracked asphalt. Jeremiah didn’t want to divine any secrets from Jonathan, not when he’d been lecturing earlier, not when they’d met on the streets in a sick and cruel tale of fate. He’d been calm to prove that he could play this game too, this game of bravado. He could match wits with the best of them. And he could understand Heather’s loyalties, why she is following him. He’s not condemning her quickly, he’d all of the moment from their initial meeting to right then to observe her, see how she reacted. It’s not about her trust him, it’s all about putting your trust in the wrong people and not expecting that somehow, someway that trust would come to slap you across the face. Gotham was a city where trust was cheap. It was bought and sold with pennies and gunfire.
Heather’s scream was like a distant echo. It didn’t bring him completely out of his reverie or his shock that he’d done what he’d done. It jolted him, but only so. He heard Jonathan’s name like a distant echo, or an eyelash that one just blinked away. He did. His plan had been existed in his mind the moment he’d been allowed the driver’s seat, but to have the plan and to put it into action and succeed were separate trains. Their collision often resulted in shock and for Jeremiah it was bittersweet. He was stuck in a purgatory between regret and redress.
What brought Jeremiah to the here and now and out of his head completely was the occlusion of light. When Heather passed in front of his headlights, the shadow flickered in his vision and he blinked again. This time away. The car purred around him. His heart was still screaming in adrenaline and he was breathing harshly. He was also in pain, from muscle strain. Yet something else was hurting him.
Jeremiah clutched the steering wheel and he leaned forward in his seat. He stared over the steering wheel into the road and he seemed to go stock still the moment he saw Jonathan, hunched in the middle of the street.
He was alive.
This time Jeremiah felt like he couldn’t breathe. Relief and terror nestled in his chest. He was alive. How was he still alive?! He was bloody, maybe he was seriously hurt, but Jeremiah was not getting out of that car. Maybe Jonathan had escaped oblivion, but couldn’t the same be said of him?
He’d escaped.
A rush took over him as he peered into the hi-beams of his car. Peered through them and met Jonathan’s eyes. He threw the car into reverse and backed up, turning his car. He glanced out of his driver window.
This wasn’t over and now they’d both changed the game.
He shifted back into Drive and pressed the gas. He needed to get home. He needed to get his windshield repaired before Melina got home.
He needed to forget about this night. But he knew he wouldn’t. It was more than likely to become a nightmare. To become so many things.
He disappeared down an alley and he did look back. He couldn’t not.
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Jonathan Crane - Scarecrow
"and at the end of fear...Oblivion"
Player: Jon ~
Registered On: Feb 15, 2012 20:39:14 GMT -5 ~
Posts: 941
~ Relationship Status: Won't Say I'm In Love
~ Partner: Fear
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Post by Jonathan Crane - Scarecrow on Dec 23, 2012 15:30:14 GMT -5
Somewhere along the line from his seat to the pavement he had lost the gun. It could have been on the street below the car or even still in the car for all he knew. Just to be sure he moved his bloodied hand away from his eyes and checked the other one. The world was still coming into focus….No gun. The only object that littered his other hand was crimson pieces of glass that had cut him from the impact. Without the gun he wasn’t going to be able to persuade Dr. Arkham out of the car….The doctor….He was still in the car.
Dr. Crane’s mind snapped back into focus just about the same time VerMillion had exited the vehicle. He watched her stumble up to his hunched over form in the middle of the street and express her ‘concern’ for his state. He was fine, he didn’t care. There was something much more pressing on his mind now that he was able to remember it. The man behind the wheel, that had thrown him into this state on the street, the man that now had a family that he could take away, was now further from his reach. Getting over there in time was impossible and pressure seconds were ticking away.
VerMillion was becoming ‘faintly’ distracting through this thought as her pleading questions kept pouring though. He saw her reach out to him but then pull back in her fear. It actually made him drag his eyes away from the man in the car, if only for a moment. The only thing that could pull his attention away from the man, it always did come first. But it didn’t last long as her ringing question finally made sense in his mind. What did they need to do? He finally drug his gaze from her, to the car and to a nearby alley way. They needed to get out of the street.
Even after all this time, through all of the strife and all that they had been through he still had yet to kill the man. He was the only exception to his distaste of wasting subjects. Anything that he would have been able to do to this man wouldn’t have been a waste. No matter how many times he stabbed him just would be satisfying each and every one of them….But he knew that it just simply wasn’t enough. He couldn’t stab him enough times for it to satisfy the ultimate craving to drag him to oblivion and plunge him into the depths himself. He hadn’t been able to do it yet, but he will…Now that he knew his well-kept secret.
His day was coming.
His glacial eyes met with the doctors finally as he stood upright. His hand came over his chest and held it, a sharp pain come through it each time he took a breath. But he was focused, focused on the stare of the one he hated most; they were both going to have to make a decision about what was more important at the time. As their eyes locked an agreement was met silently, something that needed no words to say what was going to happen next. They were stalemated in this situation a joust where both men were badly beaten but still on the horse. Their dance to oblivion was going to have to continue at another time and when he saw his body shift the gears of the car his attention turned away and went to Vermillion’s whom was still frantic beside him. He grabbed her chin ‘gently’ with his free hand and uncurled his arm from his chest to grab her wrist. He stared into her eyes, silently telling her that he was alright, and absorbing each motion in her face that enveloped her worry. Words were not needed to tell her that they were moving out of the street, he simply pulled her with him and into the darkness of the alley they ran, before the GCPD decided to check out the commotion in the night.
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