To everyone else I appear quite the same

[restingstitchface]

WHO: Crane + Friends
WHERE: Various cities
WHEN: October
WHAT: Catchall for the month's events! Fog without a Shadow; Therapy; Psychology lectures; Iceberg Lounge criminal meets
WARNINGS: None

Nonah University

[Fog rolls in over the university grounds, enveloping trees and grass as it billows towards dorms and auditoriums. Students huddle up in doorways and seek each other by calling through the mist. The shoulders they bump might belong to anyone. A freshman, a friend. They could have the misfortune of banging Jonathan Crane, who is now brushing off every point of contact from his shoulder. He looks over his dropped folders and then flashes an awkward and amicable smile.]

[Visitors to his office are expected bang on time. No earlier, no later. He invites them in promptly or looks stiffly bewildered if they open the door themselves. Both scenarios turn the same way when he invites them to close it while idly gesturing at their chair.]

[Arriving late to his psychology lecture will earn students and guests a hardened look. There are no acerbic opinions or words about tardiness; he only jokes about locking the door next time. What comes after is more telling. He ignores them for a moment, till his icy blue eyes meet theirs and a test of unsteady nerves begins.]

[Thankfully, those already sitting in class might feel more respected. He remarks about people's mistakes in emotional processing, when fear under a state of heightened stress can be mistaken for romantic arousal. When hands finally raise in the air, he begins answering questions from curious students, finally reaching his guest in question.]


Maurtia Falls

[The week crawls by and people exhausted by struggles with life and work file into the Iceberg Lounge. Bruisers and fixers maintain a watchful eye over the entrance; ordered to observe and report any sort of disturbance. Crane can be found drinking at the bar. He hides the dull look on his face as he lowers a book and looks around. Though he is a bored man, he is still very much a patient man, and like any pathological drinker seems to be waiting for someone.]

Comments

Psychology lecture - sitting in class

[stlg13bomber]

[Carter is a Good Boy and shows up on time, with a notebook for notes even. Normally he's not much for academics. He'd even struggled in chemistry, which given his future line of work was kind of hilarious in retrospect.

He does dutifully write everything down, even the stuff where he really has no clue what the man is talking about. Of course, he's no psychology student himself. He'd just seen postings about open lectures and this one in particular catches his interest on a personal level.

Carter had a lot of time to think on 622's problems during his trip, and as far as he could tell the man still hadn't gotten to see any kind of psychology doctor about his...about whatever was going on in his head. Low level long term shell shock, maybe. And if 622 wasn't going to go to the doctor, the doctor might as well come to him.

He sits politely with his hand up until Crane gets to him.]

What happens when you're still afraid but there's not actually anything dangerous around? Like, when you get scared because of a firework because you used to be in combat a long time ago? How do you make that stop?

[restingstitchface]

[The question makes Crane halt and observe. He pauses for a second, then clasps his hands together and halts his lecture.

The unrelated question has monopolised his class to solve a personal problem, treating the session as free therapy. It's pretty standard behaviour and one he minds. A raised eyebrow, a curious look and some tilting of his head to show it isn't a problem...

He then speaks as though it's the most important problem he's working on.]

You don't stop it. What your case describes is a collection of environmental influences interacting with genetic vulnerability. PTSD. Your biological processes are altered; neural circuitry dysregulated, neural mechanisms impaired. You cannot change that.

[A breather.]

What you might try is appropriate therapy. What you speak of? It's not cured by a miracle. It's something one has to work on for the rest of their life.

[stlg13bomber]

Oh...

[From the weakness in his voice and the way his hand slowly goes down again, it's not the answer he'd wanted to hear. Unfortunately, it's not surprising either.

He'd just figured they'd have fixed PTSD the way they've fixed polio by now.]

And if the, uh, if the patient doesn't want to go to a therapy or a doctor, what do you do after that? Like, if you're living in the same house as them.

[Carter dutifully takes notes, if only to show that he's paying attention.]

[restingstitchface]

[Crane rounds the lectern and looks him over. He absentmindedly drums the podium with his fingers before clasping his hands at his back, rolling on the balls of his feet.]

You encourage them to see a doctor. When your loved one emerges from the bedroom shouting and brandishing a weapon, you're potentially in danger. They won't remember you or recognize your home. You need to be insistant.

[stlg13bomber]

[That gets a look of fear from Carter. 622's been a little on edge but he hasn't done anything that bad. Yet. Right?]

O-okay, if you say so, professor. Does it always get that bad?

[restingstitchface]

[He doesn't acknowledge that scared look, but he sure enjoys it. He very quickly turns to providing an answer.]

It depends on the person and their circumstances. But if you ask me, the danger's always there.

[stlg13bomber]

I guess you'd know, sir.

[He goes quiet for the rest of the lecture, face slightly pale. Carter does his best to take notes but most of it's just the pencil wiggling around, trying to have something to do besides be up in his own head.

TK's never threatened him. But he did get up at night and look for threats that didn't exist, and that...that really did worry him.]

Maurtia Falls; sometime after the 18th

[golisolation]

[With everything that's happened since the Nihilego possession, Guzma was hoping for a break. However, he knows by now no such thing exists, and as they say, no rest for the wicked! He's not surprised that while he's been recovering, his rowdy grunts have especially been up to no good. Perhaps lashing out more than ever because of their grief over what happened to not only him, but their hideout.

What isn't expected is how freaked out a couple of grunts were when caught graffitiing a certain lounge. They've dealt with cops, hero-aligned imPorts, and even those damn beasts, yet something about how they were acting was pointedly...off.

Guzma didn't like it, not at all. Not when his team's dealt with enough already, so despite him not being fully back to hundred-percent (still looking exhausted with a sickly pallor), he's not about to let this slide. Not when he's gotten enough fragmented pieces of their story to get a general idea of what happened, and who to smash for this transgression.

The place is easy to find, considering he's been there before. As such, getting in is easy enough too. The poor goons couldn't tell him what the boss of this place looked like, but he figures that won't be a problem. Particularly with how he strolls up to the bar, paying no mind to Crane (unless he's the one behind the bar that is), loudly slams both palms down on it, assuming a near bulldog like stance as he leans forward and glares at whomever is manning the bar.]

YO! Where's the boss of this place, huh? I got some business with 'em, and I ain't gonna take no for an answer!

[restingstitchface]

[Bourbon or scotch? Whiskey or gin. Crane stops meddling with the drinks on the shelf and inhales deeply before swivelling on his heels. He adjusts his cuffs and tugs at his tie, looking every inch like a deer caught in the open. Then he lifts his chin and blinks for a second. Guzma has materialised in the manner he'd expected, loud and brazen, demanding attention like a bully with his inner circle.

He inhales deeply and swallows his irritation. Hate. The word doesn't quite sum up how he feels about Guzma, but it's a good one for bullies. Weak minds who feel they're the only threat in the room. Though he knows why the man's here, threatening him. He gently unfolds his hands and lifts them in welcome. It's... a game, really.

Placidly, he smiles.]

Can I help you?

[golisolation]

[Hate's an emotion far too familiar for Guzma, and while he often seeks it from those he likewise reviles, he too easily applies it to others. It's safer to hate those around him, even for petty reasons, than to view them any better. Dehumanizing them makes treating them like trash a whole lot easier, anyway.

With a pointed scowl, he looks Crane over. Almost looking baffled in a way at the casualness of his demeanor and question, as if he hadn't heard Guzma just a moment prior. That smile just adding more fuel to the fire that is his temper.]

Y'deaf? I said I wanna talk to the boss, idiot!

[Clearly he doesn't get the implied answer in Crane's question: that he is the boss Guzma's seeking.]

[restingstitchface]

[Crane doesn't acknowledge him for a moment, like he's hearing a different person. He trades glances with his bartender and lets him polish his glass for longer than a second while basking in the respect. His confidence is well-practised and genuine.]

Leave us.

[The barman's off soon as he's finished his sentence. No please. No mention of being delighted. One order is more than sufficient to get him what he wants. A little bit of privacy, in full view of his clientele.

Suddenly, Crane's attention is back on Guzma. His composure is cold as he studies him sternly. There's obviously some backbone, here.]

Do you want me to repeat myself? [His voice is thoughtful, quiet. The words seem to come from someone entirely different, but there's nobody else here at all. Was that what had made his goons so nervous?] Because then you would be wasting my time, and I really had painted you smarter than that.

[golisolation]

[It's with agitation that Guzma continues to stare Crane down, unblinking, yet there's some measure of restraint. He could just jump the bar and trash the place if he really wanted, but there's something not quite clicking with him in his assumed power structure of this place. Like how this small and otherwise ordinary looking man seems to have more pull than he anticipated.

As he orders the others away, obeying without question, it indeed does click. That measure of obedience is enough for Guzma to properly put the pieces together, and that cold, collected, and fearless way he holds himself rings all too familiar to someone else Guzma holds in rather high esteem. Perhaps that dispels his anger, if ever so slightly.

It does little for the confusion at the nearly displaced voice, but Guzma holds his ground. He's not scared, it takes more than that to off-set him, but he looks more apprehensive than merely angry.

Regardless, he smirks as his brow knits together in understanding as he rises to his full height, hands still resting on the bar top.]

I see...

Y'know, I gotta give ya props: you do one hell of a job hidin' in plain sight, lookin' like a regular nobody. Seen ya around here the few times I've come by, but never woulda figured it was you runnin' this joint.

[With that out of the way, Guzma cocks his head to the side, that dangerous look in his eye returning.]

But don't think that's got me all complacent. Nah, we—[lifting a hand, he gestures between Crane and himself]—got business to settle. Heard you came at a couple of my boys, and I can't let that slide, yo.

[restingstitchface]

[Moments later, Crane lifts a brow. His emotional response to Guzma puffing himself up isn't to hush or hide away; it's to regard him with a menacing stare that doesn't look terrible at all. The threat of being battered or bruised from a good distance doesn't spread pin pricks through his skin or to his nerves. Fear doesn't make its home in his heart, or anywhere else at all.

Instead, Crane continues staring at his adversary, studying him. While Guzma might be tall, it just means there's more of him to pin down. Crane treats him like an insect, to be pinned to a frame. He's cracked bigger and scarier foes before.]

I just had a few words.

[He sounds skeptical. How can he go at anyone? He's a stick!]

Your friends don't realise how lucky they were. It could have been a lot worse. Some of the people here... [His voice turns humorous, conspiratorial.] ... they don't appreciate outsiders.

University Grounds

[fireandhoney]

[Finn's been here for about two years now, and he still instinctively thinks of colleges and universities as places where one studies magic or the arts. He actually might attend the Mage College if he ever goes back to Skyrim.

He's mainly here because he heard there was a lecture he might be interested in attending. And maybe look into taking some art classes to explore different mediums, or astronomy, seeing as his lover is an alien.

He's looking down at a catalog for non-degree seekers and nearly runs into someone.]

Terribly sorry! I... Oh, hello Doctor Crane.

[restingstitchface]

[The atmosphere immediately turns a few degrees cold. Within seconds, Crane is looking up from the ground and fixing the elf with a wary eye. He takes a moment to think to himself before attempting to speak.]

Hello.

[Taking a few breaths, he gathers his strength to drop to his knees. He aches everywhere, and slowly moves his fingers around to gather his files in some sort of order.]

Do you bump into people often?

[fireandhoney]

I try not to make a habit of it.

[Yet he still tends to get distracted while walking. It got him in trouble more than once back in Tamriel. He kneels down to try and help Crane gather his files.]

[restingstitchface]

[Psych 101. Lesson planning. They're nothing to be concerned about. He feels like batting the other man's hand away but lets him help. Better to be seen to be polite, right?

He stands up and waits expectantly.]

Thank you.

[fireandhoney]

My pleasure, Doctor.

[Finn admittedly doesn't know much about psychology, but it might be an interesting thing to look into. Standing up, he looks down at the catalog he was looking at.]

I'm just looking into taking a class or two for fun. You know, sculpting, or maybe something scientific.

[restingstitchface]

[If anything, that makes Crane laugh a little. A fact that doesn't show itself on his face, which doesn't flinch nor brighten.]

How novel. But perhaps playing to your strengths is the best approach? The world needs art as much as science. That is to say people here haven't seen your approach to art before. Try sharing it.

( university grounds )

[girlybruiser]

[ The way the fog settles onto the grounds of the university sets Haru on edge. Now that she understands the meaning behind the fog, she spends her day relatively distracted. Every step around a corner or past another student or faculty member has her ready to jump to the defense.

Truthfully, the worst part of all this is not knowing whose Shadow it could be. She doubts it's Adachi's as they aren't in Heropa currently.

Could it be her own? Haru has nothing to hide these days, even considering web of entangled feelings she's stumbled into with Goro. That's not enough to provoke a Shadow of her own, is it?

She's so caught up in her own thoughts she nearly walks into Crane, but manages to stop herself just short of bumping into him headfirst. ]

Oh! Dr. Crane... you surprised me a little.

[restingstitchface]

[Crane doesn't know what to think of the fog, but the way his students mutter and keep indoors has him contemplating their nervousness, rather ironically. He feels curious enough to venture into it himself. One walk around the grounds, strolling through it like he's enjoying the air. That might be what he tells people. Really, he just loves the panic.

Which is what he's thinking about, when Haru nearly collides. He dusts himself off and quickly swallows his frustration for his disturbed reverie.]

Quite alright. Nothing's broken.

[A joke to lighten the mood?]

So, how's your day?

[girlybruiser]

[ With the worry etched into the features on her face, it's hard to lie through her teeth and act as if she isn't bothered by this fog. If it had been Adachi's Shadow, which was dangerous and running amok then, then that means there's something here. ]

To be honest, this fog is making it kind of hard to see in front of me. [ She pauses, remembering Adachi flat out asking Haru this question. ] ... can you see it?

[restingstitchface]

[He looks around for longer than a split second. His face has a look of curiosity but also some boredom to it.]

Yes, and may I say there's nothing quite so frustrating? [He points at his glasses and smiles wryly.] It's already hard to see past my nose and all.

[girlybruiser]

Wait... you can?

[ Her stomach is in knots at the thought; if Crane can see it, does that mean there's a Shadow out there, lurking somewhere? She glances around on cue, half-anticipating an assault. ]

Perhaps, it's not ideal for us to be out here...

[restingstitchface]

[The comment elicits a raised eyebrow. Crane looks around the courtyard for a good while before settling his gaze on Haru. Frightened of a bit of fog, is she? He doesn't look concerned.]

On what evidence do you base that opinion? It's just a patch of bad weather.

[It's mist. He doesn't understand why she's so nervous.]