I'm a whole lot of trouble, baby.

[restingstitchface]

WHO: Crane and various imports. OTA!
WHERE: Maurtia Falls Memorial Library. Wayne Enterprises. Heropa. Plus more!
WHEN: Throughout August.
WHAT: A bunch of morally dubious actions.
WARNINGS: None anticipated: will be updated when necessary.


Wayne Enterprises, De Chima - Crane's office, for screening appointments and any consultations

Work. Pleasure. Both had lost their distinction over the years and now affected the same line of stimulation. His control. Patients had become guinea pigs, useful for medical experiments, easily manipulated and anesthetized for their deviant behavior. This kick was why Bruce Wayne had summarily employed attendants and assistants to guard him, rotated every hour. All were carefully vetted, and briefed with the necessity of keeping his interactions limited with people. The consequences of not following Bruce's plan of action were clear. One would collect Crane's visitors from the foyer and guide them into the lift, then down a series of familiar halls, but never more than that.

Crane swivelled in an old metal-and-wood chair, meditating on his next screening. His office, white-walled and flooded by sunlight, existed far from the most central part of the building. The silence is interrupted only by the constant clicking of a clock. No personal signs litter his space, except for a fully-stocked bookshelf. Both inside and out, each visit is recorded with an Orwellian level of surveillance. While Bruce doesn't trust Crane left alone, he certainly doesn't trust him with people.

Visitors can only choose the dented metal stool, wobbling on uneven legs, in an opposite arrangement before Crane's desk.

Compared to another imPort doctor, he gives no choices.


Wayne Enterprises, De Chima - Staff areas, for limited mingling and employee interactions

This austerity spread into his workplace, where the only thing that impressed him worse than people was the scope of Bruce's generosity. The employee's need for recreation was afforded by a company gym, a central library with books about technology, engineering and maths to name a few, and peaceful surrounds with courtyards, large open spaces and verdant trees that were curtailed by a parking lot. The lobby was accessible by all. It was a stylish hangout - a colorful interior of transparent paints and glazes and aluminium and gold leaves. Though the entire building had been carefully fitted with cameras, all keeping an eye on one employee. Bruce had told everybody that he believed such measures to be necessary.

On mornings when Crane comes in he confidently makes his way across the lobby with a spring in his step, eyebrows raised and gossip ringing in his ears. Some native staff fear him too much to speak to him, others respect him enough to keep their distance. They want to spend as less time with him as much as possible: a feeling that's mutual. He swings across the reception to recline in a chair, where he focuses on nothing but his newspaper. He sighs in a long-suffering way at any interruptor, then turns his attention back to his paper fully, eyes narrowed.

Staff may encounter each other in other areas. They're free to bump into Crane as well, but must remember his escort.


Wayne Enterprises, De Chima - Owner's office, closed to Bruce Wayne

"A bit hot, today." Crane said. His tone contained a measure of inquisitiveness but still held an element of boredom to it. He looked displeased. "Eighty nine degrees, they say."

The elevator door opened and people filed out before them. The lights inside glowed dimly orange, smartly elegant, including the thin strip lighting running around the edge. The panels beautified the art-deco interior: floor-to-ceiling orange-brown varnishings separated by silver and with skirting designed as leaves and fans. Elegant, impressive, nourishing and luxurious. It made him think of standing within the elevators of Gotham university, the minor details of his life as a psychology professor - a stark reminder of his past that was enough to paralyze him for a moment.

He followed Bruce inside after a instant.

"Are you comfortable in summer, Mr. Wayne?"


Maurtia Falls Memorial Library, children's literature section

He shows up to nurture vulnerable children just like he isn't supposed to. He even ensures that he shows up twenty minutes early - and he chooses suitable books before introducing himself. Whether he does so without invitation or not is fundamentally immaterial; he is going to read them real stories one way or another. Not that he is opposed to the concept of permission or anything, but he's made the choice that it just doesn't apply to him.

Now he clears his throat loudly and, without speaking a word, attracts the attention of his young audience. The sudden release of not providing a name is relieving; certainly as great as the one he gets from avoiding pointless small talk. He kneels down, pushing his body back as he goes, and takes a seat on a large bean cushion. By his reckoning it's too comfortable but it does him well in balancing the book on his knee. His thin fingers close over the top of it to prevent it from moving. Then when the clock strikes ten, he removes them and begins reading.

The story he spins doesn't shrink on gruesome and shocking detail. Far from being magical and comforting, it's macabre and grim - stuffed with murder and torture and other disturbing behavior. It might be a problem for those listening in.


Maurtia Falls Memorial Library, technology wing

As far as crimes go, talking in the library is the absolute worst. The grating sound bleeds into his ears and his brows furrow - and his eyes seemingly scrunch up when he finds the disturbance excruciating. One or two people notice his expression and have the good grace to turn silent. Others keep on laughing loudly as they normally would. Big mistake. Crane walks in behind them and rests a hand on the back of where they're sitting. He finishes swallowing the angry knot in his throat and menacingly lingers.

He also turns around to stare down people who are watching BlueTube without headphones, his expression severe and threatening.


Revīvēscere, Lounge Bar, Heropa

When next Crane visited Revīvēscere, Lucifer was gone and he was alone. It felt like he was visiting nothing but shadows and ghosts for a while, constantly avoiding her tables and patrons by using this logical reason and that logical reason, knocking his shoulders with theirs as they reached for different people. He occasionally glanced them looking in his direction and deflected them by glowering accordingly. Some looked appropriately chastised and others left him to be miserable. Who would look to start conversation with the man who looked to be the most dour in Heropa?

Except he wasn't. His love of theatrics, gesturing a hand, tapping his fingers, awaiting the moment he could give them a good tongue-lashing, made it impossible to find such people anything but funny. Individuals who join him in conversation might be in the dark about how he loves having them fall for it.

He twists his finger together before him at the bar. Watching clientele, bored. Is he trying to play new games? The risk somebody might rumble him isn't minimal. Not that he feels concerned by the weak consequences of that.


Brew World Order, Tea Shop, Maurtia Falls

Directly opposite the community noticeboard fixed to the wall - the kind that could quickly be detached and rearranged according to necessity - stood a bookish man. A few feet away from him, more to the centre of the room, was his table. The surface was freshly wiped, and being hit with a bit of light descending from an overhead lamp. He had a pot and cup of darjeeling and a stack of newspapers with notes scribbled all over them and a spoon and a sprig of mint.

"Ridiculous!" Crane throws his right hand upwards, and begins writing on the board. "Commas should never replace full stops, period."


Player's choice. Something different.

Comments

Tea Shop

[exceptionalthief]

Not far from where Crane is standing, there's a well-dressed, impeccably groomed man seated at a table of his own. He also has a teapot in front of him, along with a small plate of scones, but the repast has gone untouched so far, his attention focused on a notebook into which he's busily writing.

That is, until Crane's exclamation compels him to glance up and he pauses, watching the posturing with increasing amusement, tea shops not generally being a venue for entertainment.

He waits for the other man to finish his 'corrections' for the most part, only then interjecting an opinion of his own. "Unless you're using a quote with a period, but don't wish to end the sentence," he says, his accent German, his English precise.

[restingstitchface]

"Obviously," Crane shoots back. His tone contains a measure of sarcasm but he still manages to insert humor in it. "Though I would remind you we're in the United States. Please remember we don't value education here."

Reaching up on his toes, he continues amending incorrections rather than returning to his table. It's something of a miracle he remembers he's speaking with anyone at all.

[exceptionalthief]

"A very good point," he concedes, not without a certain amount of sarcasm himself—or perhaps simply disdain for the United States in general, amplified by the circumstances of him presently being there against his will. Matters might be different if he were there with plans to steal several hundred thousand dollars, but he doesn't at the moment, so there's no consolation in that respect.

He continues to watch Crane, finding him interesting, entertainment factor aside, eventually remarking- "Perhaps you should seek employment here as a message board consultant. Clearly there's a need."

Brew World Order

[dun_moch]

As it so happens, Dooku is in the tea shop when Crane launches his one-man editorial initiative. For once, the Count is actually here for tea, not a clandestine meeting to discuss subversive activities. Brew World Order would be his favourite source of tea just based on quality, even if it didn't provide discreet booths and occasional free entertainment.

Dooku is seated to toward the edges of the room, lurking in the shadows of a booth in the back. He raises an eyebrow as Crane writes on the board, and speaks out, his deep voice cutting through the clatter of cups and the din of conversation.

"Feeling passionate about community matters today, Doctor?"

[restingstitchface]

Crane steadies his hand, his knuckles white. He barely inhales any air at all. The suppressive sensation of being watched crawls just a little bit tighter up his back when his mind clues him in on who's been speaking. His body aches from letting go of his corrections while he processes Dooku's speech.

"I am always passionate about community matters." His voice isn't as deep, a fact he's painfully aware of - but he sure knows how to cut through any racket.

His face hardens and he tears a paper off the board. He folds it over and tosses it in the hole in the counter below; a bin.

[dun_moch]

"Yes, so I can see," Dooku observes dryly.

The Count rises from his seat like smoke from the ground, his interest attracted by whatever has Crane so exercised. He abandons his tea for the moment, and crosses the space to the community board in a few long strides, standing beside Crane.

"And what, may I ask, was that paper's crime against good taste?" He inquires with an idle air, glancing downward into the garbage hole.

Library

[aberranthubris]

Charles is rather charmed by the idea of another imPort taking their time to sit down with the children and read for them. He came to Maurtia Falls in search of a book that has been out and circulating since early June and he's tired of waiting. He has indexed most of the local library's genetics section by now and he imagined that he'd get a brief glance of the city while here as well.

But instead he is rather shocked by what he hears this man reading in the library to the riveted audience of half terrified children. He's not even half through with his story before Charles interrupts.

"Excuse me but aren't you a little confused of your audience? I imagine there are more appropriate stories to read to the young minds of future generations."

[restingstitchface]

Crane's icy-blue eyes meet Charles's and he tries holding the man's gaze. Blackness closes in around him mentally and his breathing becomes long and uneering. His fingers press into the book, Bluebeard, a little too firmly, like he is willing to fight to prevent any submission on his part.

"It would be an injustice to forbid them from any colour in what they're hearing." When he turns a page, he totally blanks the man. But his presence feels like a hand at his throat. "What child ever cries for the death of Hansel and Gresel's witch? I suppose you're the one with the problem more than any child who just wants a good story."

[aberranthubris]

"You're scaring them," Charles says quietly. "There's colour and variation but then there's also traumatic and pressuring."

He feels strongly about this. Yes, because he didn't have a choice in the matter, neither did his parents or anyone he hadn't told to that he could hear all those thoughts without even trying, macabre and grim, disturbing and frightening. He was a little thief with invisible ears. And it made sure his childhood ended much too early.

"I doubt that the parents of these children have agreed to these stories that you are reading them. Or the staff of this library."

library

[lempereur]

Yusuke does not frequent this library, or even this city, and still, imPort fanatics managed to find him here. They had followed him all over the art section, asking personal questions and disturbing other patrons, drawing so much unwanted attention to him that he barely even got the materials he was looking for before retreating to the other end of the building.

Where, somehow, they were somehow waiting for him, a group of three teenagers asking pointed and personal questions about his mural, his home world, and his various romantic entanglements. The artist is saved by Crane and his icy glare, the kids bolt up from their seats, straight as an arrow when they meet eyes with him, and back off slowly, whispering to each other about who knows what.

"...thank you," Yusuke says, in a hushed, library-appropriate tone, bowing his head politely.

[restingstitchface]

Crane's attention is already elsewhere. He has his nose back in his book. The uncomfortable sensation of small talk is already rearing itself in his throat but he doesn't feel like making a show of it. His voice is kept quiet and shallow.

"You're welcome."

A minute passes. Three. Six. Then he carefully lays his book flat and scrutinizes Yusuke's face. The effort diverts his attention from other young people - a good thing, honestly. He has no interest in them.

"You're the young gentleman I met at Fanport, am I right?"

[lempereur]

Silence is fine. Yusuke is here on a mission, a stack of books about modern Japanese art in front of him, which he opens right to the index, scans through, and then moves on to the next one. He knows it's a long shot, but if Tokyo exists in this world, and Shibuya looks the same, then there can't be any harm in trying.

He isn't having any luck finding his mentor or his work, and he isn't sure whether he should be disappointed or relieved. Yusuke's instinct leans towards the latter, but even that makes him feel a little guilty. By the time Crane speaks to him again, the stack in front of him is significantly whittled down.

"Ah, yes, I believe so. You are interested in the collective unconsciousness, if I recall?"

Wayne Enterprises, Owner's Office

[the_caped_crusader]

Don't be patronizing, Jonathan.

[Bruce enters past Crane and quickly takes a seat at his desk, and immediately begins to look over some paperwork his secretary had left on his desk for him while he was away. He's not interested in small talk. He knows Crane isn't interested in small talk. It'd be a curiosity if Jonathan were actually attempting to make normal conversation, but he's not. They're not there yet. Crane only wants to criticize small talk with pretentious satire.]

[restingstitchface]

[Crane doesn't even bother to answer. Patronizing, him? He doesn't take a seat, either. He sidles around the office and looks at Bruce's effects. He feels the shelf under his fingertips, smooth and cool, then he slides a diget over the top of a book and levers it out. Though some might believe his behavior to be rude, even contagious, he feels he is simply investigating his curiosity.

He smiles wanely and seems to completely lose his train of thought from the present. But he eventually turns around in a gentlemanly fashion to see how far along Bruce is in his paperwork.]

[the_caped_crusader]

[Bruce tolerates him as he halfheartedly skims the paperwork on his desk. He is, of course, mostly watching Jonathan discreetly as he flips through the pages. While Crane's social skills are lacking, enduring his lack of interpersonal graces is more palatable than his criminal acts.]

Find anything interesting?

Library

[cleptes]

Bela has the sense and the respect to remain quiet whilst being in the library. Especially in one that she had made a sizeable monetary contribution to. She was researching a few things online in the corner of the technology suite. Finishing up, Bela logs off the computer and gathers her things together before heading in the direction of the exit.

On her way past she notices Crane. He didn't look too pleased at the behaviour of some of the patrons, and well, she wants to watch the drama unfold. Maybe out of dislike for the man or maybe because Bela found it damn entertaining.

"You should be compensated for your time, Doctor." Bela states, stopping by the table where the loudmouths were. "For trying to keep the peace."

[restingstitchface]

The clock ticks.

Crane turns around and removes his hand from the chair of one patron who'd noticably decided to jerk from shoulder to crown. He rests a palm on the boy's shoulder and pushes him back down when he tries to escape.

"You know, I think I agree with that."

Library, Children's Lit

[andtherevolution]

Utena wanders into the children's section on a whim, really. Maybe it's nostalgia. Maybe it's curiosity over what the children in this strange version of America like to read. Whatever it is, she finds herself idly browsing some of the picture books...

...which puts her in the perfect position to overhear Crane's grim story. She perks her head up immediately, not quite sure if she heard right. The mention of flowing blood grabs her attention, but even if she had not heard it, the childish squeals that follow would be impossible to miss. What the heck kind of story is he telling these kids?! Well, she's not going to keep that thought to herself. Utena steps towards the story time circle, and says, "What are you-"

She stops, blinking as she actually looks at the children. Despite the squeals and chorus of ewwws that she heard, there's not a single sad face in the tiny audience. There are no sobs and there are no tears. There's just a group of very confused children staring up at her.

"...reading..."

[restingstitchface]

"Rapunzel." He shows the title for emphasis and pulls his right ankle over his left. He pulls his glasses off his face and waves them at her before scrunching his eyes to work away fatigue from all his late nights. A handful of children had made themselves into a starring role by enjoying his story; and she wasn't going to ruin it.

"You're welcome to listen," he says. His tone contains an element of boredom to it.

[112ounces]

There's been some videos lately that's been popping up. Those using BlueTube might see a glimpse of a horrifying clip of Carl fighting himself, with knives gleaming in the air and blood splattering on the floor.

Carl, for the most part, was ignorant of the videos - he barely pay attention to social media after he quit his job in the animal shelter in Heropa. But he did hear the noises from the tinny speakers of the laptops - and Carl, who was visiting the library simply because he was curious as to what Maurita Falls had to offer - turned his head around as he passed by the people who were muttering excitingly at the fight. Then he saw himself in the computer screen, and he stood still, looking over the shoulders of the young men, watching the fight between Carl and his clone.

He was so riveted by the scene, of he watching himself fighting himself, that he didn't even notice Crane and his annoyance with the loud busybodies.

[restingstitchface]

The noise became too much to handle. Crane's eyes snapped open and he slid his fingers down his thighs, seeking comfort till he found it by applying pressure to both his knees. He jolted. Electricity flew up his arms. His body ached from the effort of having to hold it all in; his face was calm as ever and his body constricted from showing any emotion.

He closes his eyes and tried to focus on nothing but the table, which he scouts with his hands and leans on for support when he levers himself into standing. He breathes in. He breathes out. He does nothing but watch the chatter continue for a short time. Whatever he is thinking of - whatever is the cause of that darkness on his face - it isn't around for long. He throws a magazine at the back of their heads, not caring in particular whether it hurt them or not.

It might teach them to mind their manners.

Revīvēscere

[sleight_of_hand]

Adachi hadn't seen Crane in ages now, to the point he almost didn't recognize him, especially with that dour look on his face. He spent a long moment watching him, sipping away at his drink and debating if he really wanted to poke this gassy, bag-faced moron. It was a long moment before he finally let out a sigh, picking up his drink and heading over to him; may as well, right? It wasn't like he was in a much better mood at the moment.

"You look like you just got dumped," he said, announcing his presence by being a jerk, as usual.

[restingstitchface]

Well, this is... hell.

He sits there in silence for several more seconds. He thinks about a great many happier things while Adachi imposes his presence, fluffing himself up with his pointless talking. His eyes begin closing as his fingers slide together, before deciding to part and he lays them either side of his drink, palms down against the grain.

"And you look like you don't care for manners," he responds, willing him to sit down with a gesture.

HERE I AM THE LATEST

[h2no]

Despite what he had said, Archie does not show up with a coffee.

He knocks on the door - two knocks, made sure he got in faster than he did last time.

"Crane?"

[restingstitchface]

When he calls, Crane is off reading to the side. He replaces the medical journal back on the shelf and quietly lets the assistant open the door - that's what he's good for - whilst he sidles back to his desk and picks up paper and pen.

He closes his eyes and tries to focus on anything but the casual way the man's just taken his name in vain.

"Morning. Try to take a seat before you hurt yourself rushing like that."

Welcome to the rickety stool, Archie.