maskormenacelogs | So tell us what you know

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So tell us what you know

WHO: Crane and OTA
WHERE: Nonah or Maurtia Falls
WHEN: 20th May and onwards
WHAT: Unwanted visitors! And their consequences
WARNINGS: This man right here, officer

Nonah: University Grounds

[Crane acknowledges nothing and nobody as he walks, continuing on his way through the courtyard towards his next lesson. The department for psychology stands a good distance away from the parking lot, leaving students and visitors alike with plenty of time to seek his help or notice his presence.

The room inside his office is full of bookshelves. Bookshelves about psychology and psychiatry. Bookshelves about chemistry. Bookshelves about literature - and bookshelves of literature. He can be found inside outside teaching hours. Preparing next month’s lessons or marking coursework.]

Falls: The Iceberg Lounge

[Too many questions would be asked if Crane remains away from his other place of business for long, so he pops by occasionally towards the end of the month. For first time guests and regular patrons, the Iceberg lacks music and a stage for entertainment. Dim lighting keeps private business personal and hides plenty of exits onto the street.

The lounge houses a dubious kind of clientele: people who mix in polite society mixing with people who mock good citizens with their illegal work. Journalists, judges and police officers sit across from ruthless gangsters, border runners and clandestine bankers. Crane can be seen sitting alone or ordering at the bar - everyone too nervous to engage him directly.]

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[ Rachel hasn't seen much of what lies beyond the Falls yet. She figures it's best to get to know the area she's been situated in, and it's starting to grow on her. A familiarity dwells upon her at its overcast days and shady people; the type that allows her to see potential in something that may otherwise be viewed as a lost cause.

This is probably why she finds herself at The Iceberg Lounge.

The lounge has been mentioned in passing by a handful of the locals she'd interacted with; a few who've never actually been, some who recommend it, and others who have advised against her visiting. Naturally, as a Gotham native and idealist, Rachel smells an opportunity to get to know the core of this town.

And part of that means poking her nose into whatever it is Jonathan Crane has been up to during her apparent absence. She hasn't forgotten his mention of owning a lounge, and based on its reputation, she's clever enough to be able to put two and two together.

And there he is now. She approaches the bar and there's a purpose to her stride. She doesn't even look at Crane yet. ]

Just water, please. Lots of ice.

[When Crane approaches the bar, the people surrounding him shrink back. Giving him a little distance, giving him a little room. The quiet way they disengage and avoid striking a conversation provide Rachel with her first subtle clue: the people here are afraid. Officers and criminals alike are reluctant to gossip about him in general. There are some frightening people you don't want to go investigating. Like most men he seems pleasant enough to strike business with, but when he puts on that mask...

Well, that's over with these days, right? Nothing to him under the sack, right? No bite, no venom.

The bartender brings Rachel her drink half a minute later. He unscrews a bottle of mineral water and pours it over chunks of ice, before leaving the bottle and his customer to their thoughts. Crane's reputation has spread through the town like how the ice melts and spreads into her water; infecting its bloodsteam, infesting its veins.

He sits at the end of the bar like he's nothing to be frightened of. Slams a stack of paperwork onto the counter and whips out a pen.

Ignoring her totally.]

[ Rachel doesn't take well to being ignored. As a woman in the business, she knows all too well what it's like, but she's never quite learned how to accept it. Especially from the corrupt! ...Not that she's ever tried.

The tension surrounding Crane - the fear - it could be sliced at with a knife. It's a fear that Rachel understands but she doesn't carry it with her. She won't. ]

'Scarecrow.' [ She says, repeating the last thing he said to her back in Gotham. She cups the glass of water in her hands as it sits on the surface. Beads of condensation run along the curves of her fingers as she glares his way. ]

[Instead of answering, Crane leans his elbow on the bar, cheek against his fist. While he smothers his face with a neutral expression, he cannot hide the lively spark flashing behind his eyes. He observes Rachel's movements, imagines how nervous she is feeling beneath her bravado, and inhales deeply. He grabs his water from the bar - straight with a slice of lemon - and lets go immediately once it's beneath his nose.]

Ms. Dawes.

[The man he has become hides both in the open and beyond plain sight. He answers to his name whilst hiding behind a different face. The stitches tying his life together are now looser, more threadbare. More unhinged, one might think - his mind is obviously recalling something - but the mask he presents to the world is stitched more finely than his burlap sack.]

Edited (spelling. oops) 2020-05-14 22:22 (UTC)

[ There's a moment that Rachel latches onto; a beat where she finds herself staring fixedly at this man. This man, of all of the people she'd known, is her only connection to what is - what was - her home. It's hard to swallow. ]

I imagine not much has changed. [ She says through a breath. Her tone devoid of expectation for anything else. ] Though, more people seem to fear you.

And why, pray tell, is that?

[Crane shifts on his stool, peeling his gaze away from Rachel to take in the nervous patrons surrounding her at the bar, the anxious customers at their tables, the clientele hiding in the corners hoping he doesn't notice. That Scarecrow doesn't notice.

He redirects back once he's done a full circle. The nonchalant way he rolls his gaze and the casual shrug of his shoulders reveals something about himself; he's a little more unravelled than what she's used to.]

I plead the fifth.

[He can spill his secret. Right now? He's a dragon squatting on his treasure.]

[ Rachel makes a lineface :| - she's pretty much mastered it by now. It normally makes an appearance when there's a tension flowing through her; be it that of frustration, disappointment, or just plain exhaustion. Either of those apply here. ]

I'll find out myself if I have to.

[ It isn't a threat, what are you talking about. ]

[There are few things that get the old blood going more than crime. Be it dirty deeds committed in the past or atrocious acts pencilled for the future. It brightens his face and fills his entire body with glee. He angles forward on his stool, flaunting his true self front and center.

His voice carries a blithe tone.]

If you do, I'll tell you everything else I'm planning.

[Though he has no intention of delving into his work for now, he implies he has subjected innocents to his investigations in the past and will continue to do so. It's a lie, again for now.]

A reward for the hard work of pushing a button and all that.

[Because he cannot resist that little dig about how they first met.]

[ Rachel finally takes her first sip from the glass. The chilled water splashes through the heated frustration that grows within her. The frustration building up from the uncertainty she's felt since her arrival. Sitting here with Jonathan Crane only sparks that frustration.

She begins to wonder how she ended up in this very spot. ]

I hadn't planned on giving up in Gotham. I won't budge here, Crane.

[By contrast, Crane's glass sits undisturbed. The water rests amongst ice, tranquil as the expression frozen on his face. He seems to be listening to her - much as he listens to anyone.

The first mark something is wrong begins when he casually bats his hands upon the counter. His carefully maintained veneer beginning to crack and melt as he thinks all manner of cruel and unusual thoughts. His back straightens and he chirps with more humour than was physically possible all those years ago; back when he was part of polite society.

Shockingly, something about her amuses him.

Though it doesn't overtake the coldness behind his eyes.]

Do or die, then?

[ Ice or no ice, Rachel feels a sudden chill run down her spine. There is something off about him, which says much. She remembers him being more physically put together; a book that she didn't dare judge by its cover. But now? He appears to exhibit a side to her that she has not seen in the past.

She caught a glimpse of it at the market, but the dissonance that shook her at that time distorted her judgement. She wasn't herself upon her arrival, and she knew it.

Rachel finds herself in an odd place now. She's beginning to think she may have underestimated their second encounter.

She swallows the uncertainty creeping up her throat. She's careful about not showing that uncertainty through her body language. Though she sits in silence, she keeps her chin held high.

With that, she takes another sip. ]

[There are few signs to read from. It's commendable but flawed. From the moment she picks up her glass he's connecting her behaviour: words spoken in anger and disgust no longer spoken at all. Now she's finding herself an excuse not to talk. Being fairly obvious about it too and that is the most boring part of all.

He slides his hands under the table. Keep your hands where I can see them is part of the vernacular of Gotham's fines and he plays with it. Leans heavily on her remembering where he used to hide his toxin. What are his hands doing? When will they return to the table? Better they beat a bored rhythm than fiddle out of sight, right?

Unsurprisingly, that's where they remain. His body language remaining precisely the same.]

Settling in, then?

[It's such a mundane question, so boring, that it stands entirely at odds with who he is and what he does - and he likes it.]

[ Rachel is nothing if not transparent, and boy wouldn't a mask be handy right about now. A fleeting thought, that. She isn't the mask-wearing type and never will be. What you see is what you get with Rachel Dawes and she's still learning how to navigate that in the presence of those who belong behind bars.

That means you, Mister Crane. ]

Not quite.

[ She glances down at his hands at the corner of her eyes. After a beat, she shrugs and looks up at him. ]

Not yet.

[ And a glare. Always a glare. ]

[The angry way she stares had offended him at one time. Back in youthful days, when shallow behaviour had been a nuisance and not worth a pat on the head. She had harangued him through the courthouse, puffed her cheeks like a blowfish and assumed anything she had to say had relevance. Droning on about corruption and ranting herself into an early grave.

He taps his fingers on his knees and stifles a laugh. It doesn't even matter to him that his smile is evident and his mood chipper as ever.]

That is unbelievable. A proactive woman like yourself should be out there making friends.

[And enemies. Always enemies.]

[ He's messing with her. With all the uncertainty she'd been feeling, she can at least be sure of that. But there was hardly any doubt there to begin with.

She shudders at his amusement. His enjoyment creeps through his features like worms peeking out from within the dirt. Why does it seem so familiar? ]

Something tells me you don't know much on the subject of 'friends'.

[Crane carefully pastes over the cracks in his expression before helping himself to a sip of water. Ice cold just as he likes it - like how he handles this conversation.]

Not to be technical, but understanding the concept of friendship is part of my job.

[His tone is far, far warmer than the hatred peeking out from beneath his smile.]

[ Rachel's going to end up with a permanent glare at this point. If you keep making that face, it'll stay that way, her mother used to say. ]

That's all it is to you, isn't it. Understanding concepts to use them to your advantage?

[ Not a question that demands any real answer. She sometimes can't help but be passive in her aggression. But oh you better believe that aggression is there, mister. ]

[His cold smile lifts when he raises his eyes to the ceiling.]

Hardly. All people seek to extend and change social influence. You strove to make the judiciary independent in line with your own goals, you fostered belief in an idealogy that had negative consequences for the minority.

[He returns his focus to his drink and takes his time having another sip. Telling her about the Dent Act will be wonderful. Why, the thought's already putting a smile on his face!]

Clearly being in the trade I am more helpful with it than most.

[By which he means, well, you, Rachel.]

[ Rachel sets her lips into a hard line as she digs through her purse for some coins. A small part of her finds an odd interest in the perspective of those with a criminal mind, but the whole of her has no real time for it.

She peers down at her glass that's not even a couple of sips shy of a full cup. There's a fire in her burning, aching her to battle once again with her words. But a tinge of familiarity stops her.

I do what I do to keep thugs behind bars, not in therapy.

Instead, she brings the glass up to her lips and drinks with a real, proper sip to extinguish that flame. She places the coins on the counter and stands from her seat, holding herself with a certain pride that she's made into her signature. ]

You're wrong. [ She says after a pause. One word comes after the other reeking of experience with the phrase. It carries more than just its surface meaning, and even though they may not be the last words in this conversation (Crane has never allowed her before), she is content enough to have them be the last words on her end. ]

[A fistful of dollars.

They land on his counter as though she expects him to play the part in some film. Instead of swiping them off the veneer he ignores them in favour of raising a hand to greet some arriving guests. They leave well enough alone and hurry out of the conversation. Respectful of his reputation but unwilling to bear it for long. Instead of following them across the floor, he directs his gaze towards Rachel. Challenging her one last time.

Wrong? He owns the benefit of hindsight.

It's a fact he laughs about as he turns his back and helps himself to a bottle of water from one of the fridges behind the bar. Giving her a smile before he turns his back and heads towards his office, shaking his head.

Sometimes one doesn't need words to have the last word in a conversation.]

[ Archer had a few places lined up that were appropriate for meetings, but it never hurt to have more. Both for his legitimate works and those that were not quite above the table. He had heard good things about this location from several acquaintances and had decided it was about time to check it out himself.

The man walked in with the confidence of one who had never once felt out of place in his whole life. His eyes gazed at the general location, taking in the amenities and ignoring the majority of the occupants - while he was curious he was not so foolish as to attempt to discern if he was correct about whether or not he had in fact heard the voice of a judge he had worked with just a few afternoons ago. He noticed that it was in good repair, that it lacked the useless noise of music or televisions that plagued so many locations, and that from his quick exploration outside that he was right to think this place appropriate for quick exits where required.

He made his way to the bar, standing next to Crane as the man ordered his drink. Archer took a glance at Crane's face and immediately recalled the message he had given on the Network back during that debacle with The Joker. It was no mistake that he smiled genially and then spoke. ]

Why, I don't believe we have met, though I am familiar with who you are.

[ The way everyone in the bar seemed to avoid Crane in whatever way possible had perhaps been a little too tempting. ]

[Crane stands there at the bar, looking alone and empty. One of his elbows is resting on the counter, fingertips circling the rim of his glass. His other hand rests inside his pocket and fiddles with a scrap of paper. Singly is how he likes to spend his time; except for work but that's another story.

It is difficult to muster up the energy to care about casual company. He is too old for pretence these days. It takes little time for him to adopt a neutral tone. Inscrutable. Unreadable.]

Me? Well, I'm sure I'd say the same thing.

[If he cares. He doesn't.]

My fame is negligible, so I would be quite flattered if you do.

Apollo Akagawa. [ He held out his hand in a polite greeting. ]

[ As for how well known he was, well. That was a matter of perspective. A lawyer who was both an imPort and particularly good at his job was going to gain attention in certain circles. Despite his currently brief time acting on behalf of clients in this world he had already done quite well by each of them. Some of them being of a more 'shady' sort. Rumours had recently started that he had a talent for making sure things went the way of his client's desires, though with less than a year in this world there hadn't exactly been time to create evidence to the contrary.

There was also his illegal dealings, but those hardly came with a name attached. Nor a calling card. Though those in the know in the underbelly of Marutia Falls had no doubt heard of some of his exploits, as he had been hired to make an example of some known people by now. ]

I saw your communications during last December's, ah, unfortunate circumstances. After some quick research I found myself quite impressed by the things I read concerning your skills in both chemistry and psychiatric fields.

Did you? How nice.

[Crane holds his gaze on the offered hand but makes no moves to shake it. The act seals a relationship he has no interest in forming; he has lived in this world long enough to learn the only pact worth making is with one's own resolve. Persistence and perseverance being traits he admires in himself, less in others. Though he can respect them without feeling the same warmth for the person they come from.

He taps his glass with his fingers. The name is hardly important enough to think of the real consequences of turning him away. Though he is not a rude man. Granny wouldn't stand for it.]

There's nothing quite as exciting as catching the public eye.

[ Archer does not outwardly show his frustration at the lack of a returned hand. He will remember this, but for the moment he simply gives a respectful nod and returns his hand to his side. Should things go poorly he will simply use it as further fuel to disdain the man, should they go well, then perhaps there would be some form of common ground.

After all, Archer had many occasions where he did not deign to shake someone's hand, too. This man is the one in a higher position of power at the moment, and he would no doubt do similarly. ]

That is very true. [ He expressed a low chuckle. ] You have done quite well in that regard. Though, I do find it shocking that your multitude of expertises are not called upon more frequently.

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So tell us what you know

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