[Open] We'll murder them amid laughter and merriment

[restingstitchface]

WHO: Dr. Crane and YOU.
WHERE: ImPort Clinic, Nonah.
WHEN: March 1st till March 6th.
WHAT: Crane's available to talk to about all your problems. He might be probing and prodding, and trying to perceive your fears at the same time. Or maybe you're just housewarming?
WARNINGS: Psychological discussions of a personal note.

It wasn't the most personal office Crane was sitting in, but it was one he knew people'd come to visit nonetheless. He'd deliberately chosen the decorations of his abode in as little time as possible. Clean and traditional, the office was sterile with few home comforts; there wasn't a single telling thing that could reveal something about himself.

The walls were charcoal grey, like the floor, which Crane had attempted to desharpen by having workers lay a muted cream carpet with a black border. He'd unceremoniously placed a yucca tree in the corner, next to a tanned suede couch. He'd had his chair moved opposite, in which he was currently reclining, with a green-upholstered antique footstool in the middle. The old table on his right had nothing on its surface - another hint at his drab nature. Or his fastidious cleanliness. His even older desk was shoved up against the far wall and supported just a lamp, a password-locked laptop and some notebooks. There was a single shelf of books compared to the wall-to-wall library back at his residence - with only a thin copy of The Murders in the Rue Morgue nestled deliberately between the spines. An eagle-eyed visitor would notice the discreprency, and in turn give him an opening into their psyche.

It was an uncomfortable place to be blocked in, with only Crane's blue eyes watching. He didn't particularily care - it was a place to learn and talk. Making it his home was illogical.

Someone rapping his door pricked his ears. He stopped reading and set his book on the table before rising to answer and lead his visitor in. The light from the ceiling-to-wall bay window was flooding the room and making it feel larger than the box it was.

"Thank you for coming."

Comments

[thebatbutler]

There was danger in coming here, of course, and undoubtedly Bruce would have been less than thrilled with the plan, but Alfred was determined to meet with Jonathan Crane himself so that he might form his own opinion on the man and how dangerous he might prove himself to be here. He came in disguise, a hat perched precariously on a mop of unruly hair, he stared at the door with wide brown eyes before knocking up certainly, wringing his hands while he waited for the door to open.

His head jerks up slightly when it does open, almost as if he'd been startled. "Yes. Of course. Dr Crane, right? I wasn't sure I had the right place, but I recognize you from the network and I was hoping that you could help."

The accent that he uses is American - mid western - nothing terribly telling about where he might have originally hailed from. Although that sort of thing meant even less here in a world where people came from all sorts of differing back grounds. Still, it was better to play the entire thing safe. It wouldn't do to underestimate Crane's intelligence and slip up. Undoubtedly, the man would be less than pleased to discover that Alfred had used a disguise to come here. It could be explained away, if it came to that, but it would still cast him in a suspicious light.

Alfred moves forward and then hesitates just before stepping into the room. "Can I come in?"

[restingstitchface]

"Of course. Take a seat," Crane says gently. He's holding an arm to the couch, and while he doesn't guide the man with much force, he's imposing in the way he commands his space - and gentle enough that he shouldn't seem offensive. It's a carefully cultivated image of calm professionalism and empathy. In actuality, it's Crane's deliberate method of getting someone to relax and spill out their fears.

He wanted to see and learn, and to offer guidance and help - and whisper into this man's ear that everything was going to be fine. Oh, how humankind suffer and fight and protest against the inevitable. He takes a seat in the chair opposite, and his hands clasp gently in his lap whilst he offers the faintest of smiles.

"Why don't you tell me your name? If you want to start with that."

[thebatbutler]

"Thank you." Alfred moves past Crane, taking a seat on the edge of the couch rather than sitting all the way back. The character that he plays here is nervous, on edge, and would not feel at home in such an unfamiliar environment until Dr Crane was able to convince him of the safety of such a place. And this should be a safe place for people to be listened to and receive help, but Alfred knows better, even if the man he poses as doesn't.

"I'm sorry. How rude of me to not - Henry Quartermain." There's a moment where he teeters on the edge of the couch as if torn between standing and offering the other man his hand or not. In the end, he folds more into himself, but offers a hand uncertainly anyway. After all, it's only polite.

But polite or not, Henry isn't confident enough to directly meet Dr Crane's inquiring gaze, instead staring at a point on the wall just over the doctor's left shoulder.

[restingstitchface]

Crane deliberately leans in slowly to greet the handshake, and looks pleased Henry offered it in the first place. What it takes to make anxious people comfortable, he believes, is a genuine nature of character, minimal mistakes, careful thought and sincere praise. So it's a fortunate thing that Dr. Jonathan Crane is free to be himself. He dislikes contact much as Henry, but shakes his hand anyway. His grip is neither soft nor firm.

He specifically makes a point of breaking it all as quickly as possible. It was the nature of the gesture that he questioned, and believed priasing this man for a trained performance all humans had to learn wouldn't see genuine at all. He leans back into a solitary position and adjusts his tie.

"Rude or not, that's why you're here." It was his acknowledgement Henry had a problem, and had made the unpleasant journey, with no insincere praise. "But impoliteness is a quality given measure by an external source. Can you prove I find your behaviour rude?"

[thebatbutler]

Alfred pulls his hand back sooner than would have been considered traditionally polite, but Crane is the one that breaks contact first. There's still a trickle of excitement at the back of his mind from the contact - the only fissure in Dr Crane's otherwise impeccable control of his emotion. It was expected, to a certain extent, but the lack of a feedback that Alfred had become so accustomed to here is slightly unsettling and he allows his discomfiture to show on his face.

"I- Well. No." His hands twitch where they're folded in his lap and Henry's eyes skim over the books on the shelf as an excuse to avoid making direct eye contact with Crane. The Murders in the Rue Morgue. Interesting. But Alfred doesn't let his eyes linger on the book. After all, they were merely a distraction to Henry - something that he might look at to avoid the real subject at hand here. That subject being himself, and one that Dr Crane was proving to be rather adept at pursuing.

Again, though, he is being rude, his gaze to drifting from the man who is only here to help him. Henry forces himself to look back towards the doctor, even if he still can't quite bring himself to meet the other man's eyes.

"I suppose I cannot prove that you find my behavior rude. But, I am no expert on human behavior such as yourself, Doctor." It's a subtlety, addressing Crane by his title. Allowing him to know that Henry places Crane on a tier above himself as a result of it. That he would defer to Crane's expertise on the matter and also that, indeed, he wasn't here to discuss his rudeness or how others might perceive it. As for the reason that he was here? Well, he would allow Crane to ask - to pry slightly - because it was a delicate subject, and one that neither Henry, nor Alfred, was overly eager to discuss.

[braided_icarus]

Of course, Ed isn't the most pleased to be dragging himself here. But even he can't deny there are issues he keeps to himself. Issues he probably should talk about that he doesn't want to bother Winry about. And this guy had offered before. It's debatable if talking to him might be any easier with a stranger or not but Ed figures he can at least try and if it doesn't work out he'd just leave.

He was almost tempted to not even bother knocking, but it's not entirely fair to immediately set such a bad tone. It's not Crane's fault Ed's life has turned out the way it has, after all. So he waits, simply giving a nod as he purses his lips and enters once the psychologist opens the door for him. Taking a seat, he ignores the slight clanking from his auto-mail arm, used to it over the years even if Crane might pick up on it as he shifts, crossing his arms and legs.

"You said I could come talk to you."

So here he is. The room doesn't seem like much, but as far as Ed knows this is fairly recent a thing for him to have a place specifically for these appointments. Then again it isn't like Ed's done much in the way of decorating his own room. His shop has a few examples of his transmutations, but that's for business. It could be he doesn't want anything to distract his patients for all Ed figures.

[restingstitchface]

Crane is a private individual, a quiet one, and that's why there's nothing of his on any table where such things would be, or anything on the bookshelf other than a thin copy of Poe's short story. This was a room for his patients - filling it with his things would take away from their conversation, or they would turn it around on him.

His ears prick at the mechanical sound, eyes searching for the source, staying level with only the slowest of movements. He's keeping Ed under his microscopic gaze but attempting to maintain a level of comfort. The kid's arm and the way it shifts across his legs. He picks up on the difference, though it's slight. It looked heavy. Having to carry all that weight must be a burden.

"So I did," he says simply.

His voice trails off. Focused on something else completely. He has never known a child with such an injury to not have some fear or another. How had the limb been lost? He crosses his own legs, right over left, in a mirror to subconsciously draw attention to Ed's own defensiveness.

"I never got your name. Why don't you begin with that?" He tilts his head slightly. It was freely available from their conversation on the network, but saying it would reveal his reading... habits. There was no need to make his new client uncomfortable.

[braided_icarus]

"Name. Right. It's Ed."

No need to give the guy his last name. Beyond that, with how often Ed ends up responding or posting to the network himself, he's not exactly attempting to hide anything. He barely restrains from raising an eyebrow at that first question though, given it's hardly a secret and it would be easy enough to figure over the network if Crane really wanted to poke around. And Fullmetal is mostly something his subordinates back home refer to him as. Not so much people around Heropa. The staring makes him a little uneasy as he notices it, but he's used to stares. From his auto-mail. From being an imPort here. From his status back home. From his blonde hair and golden eyes Hohenheim passed down with his heritage from Xerxes centuries ago.

"Like I said, I don't know how this sort of thing usually goes. What to really expect."

It's not insecurity, so much as he's just honestly never done this. Sat down to talk to a stranger that's supposed to analyse it all and help somehow.

[restingstitchface]

"It's a rather confusing experience the first time, I know. But what you can expect is, with my guidance and co-operation on your part, to achieve a sense of wholeness."

Crane's not sure what's more fascinating. The fact this boy was being so open and honest, or was so unfamiliar with the concepts of psychiatry and psychology, and exploring the mind, that he could open any door for him, guide him through, and he wouldn't even notice. Crane wants to help, but his reasons and methods are different to his ex-colleagues. The question was who, out of the two of them, did he want to help by doing this?

He clasps his hands together in his lap, where they rest gently, and finishes speaking.

"To find a genuine meaning to your life. And, ultimately, in your death."

[braided_icarus]

"A sense of wholeness?"

Really? That alone almost is enough to make him snort and up and leave. Almost. But not entirely enough. He's obviously somewhat susceptible and an easy target to some extent given he's new to this but that doesn't mean he isn't still perhaps a little unnerved by it even as he decides to give it a try all the same.

"Meaning, huh? I guess that is still something I'm working on. I had a promise--a goal I worked towards for years. Now I hear I manage that I'm not sure what I'd do."

Here or back home. But then, even that is likely jumping ahead somewhat when Crane doesn't really know the first thing about him. At least, in theory outside of their singular conversation over the network before.

[wayhot]

"No problem." She replies, glancing around the room a little curiously. It's all pretty... boring-looking, actually. But then again, it isn't as if this is supposed to be something exciting. She's just here to talk to him, after all. "Thanks for seeing me, Dr. Crane. I really appreciate it."

As it is, Flame Princess could definitely use someone to speak to after everything that's happened. She knows Gamagori is there for her, but she always goes to him with her troubles. And while she knows he isn't bothered by her talking to him, he already has so much going on, especially with his new duties as an ambassador. Going to him only to go on about what's upsetting her would just be adding on to his concerns, and she doesn't want to burden him with that on top of everything else.

Besides, Dr. Crane is a professional when it comes to dealing with this sort of thing. Or at least, he's supposed to be. And he seems trustworthy enough. So, it's probably for the best that she decided to come to him, anyway.

"I would've made the appointment sooner, but there's been a lot going on. It kind of slipped my mind for a bit."

[restingstitchface]

The fact he was speaking with living fire in the flesh - a strange idiom, in this case - was interesting, but Crane's face barely shows his excitement. He glances curiously around the room, to all the places her looks have been, a subtle mirroring of her mood.

The issue was clear. It was an internal conflict brought about by the network post that was making her shy away. It was to him she'd come, rather than her friends. A wounded child trying to develop her personality to suit her friends, rather than face her potential. It was her pain he was interested in. He can dare her to face it, and then push her over the border with just a few suggestions, a few words.

And of course, fire was the symbol of the archetypal motif of the apocalypse. It was maddening and terrifying and he could hear people screaming and running for their lives. It would give him plenty to watch. It was delightful. He was saying nothing as he watched Flame Princess closely. He was a man of his word, to people capable of reading between the lines. He would help her.

"Nothing slips the mind, you know. Such loss of memory is a serious malady that hints at a deeper crisis. The loss of our soul." He leans forward slightly, brows raised. He spoke in a calm, caring tone. "You appear to be suffering an identity crisis of sorts. I believe it was brought about after that post left by... whoever that young man was."

He was providing something irresistable to the weak; protection and guidance.

"If it helps you cope, I'm quite willing to listen to you talk. About anything you like."

[wayhot]

"Uh..." Well, right to the point, then.

"Yeah, I guess so. But I've been dealing with stuff since before then. That all just kind of made it worse." Her fire dims, and she shifts a little awkwardly in her seat. The foil she's wearing - a low-tech way to prevent her from burning things down when just trying to do normal things - crinkles audibly as she moves.

"I don't really know what to do here, though. I've never done this sort of... official talking about feelings stuff." Sure, that's one way to describe therapy.

"Is there a place I should start or something?"

[restingstitchface]

Crane listens to her speak. She's nervous. She's awkward. Squirming in her chair like she doesn't know what she should do - what she should be. Her bright fire dims, reveals her, confirms how she's feeling.

"Well, I can tell you where I would begin but I cannot say where you should begin. That is your own personal question."

It's an open statement, he knows. And it's one that gets people thinking. He leans forward, trying to look for something special. He ushers her along, helping her think, helping her learn.

"Now. Take recent events. When good and bad experiences happen, life's trying to get your attention. Why do you think that is?"

[wayhot]

She qoes quiet for a while, trying to think of an answer for his question. The trouble isn't really coming up with one, so much as there are so many answers she could give. But which one could be the right one? Is there even a right answer?

Eventually, she settles on the answer that's most obvious - and the one she's been dwelling on the most.

"I don't know. Maybe it's trying to tell me that I'm dangerous to everybody around me, but I already know that." She knew that before she came here. But her struggles in Ooo had more to do with the dangers of her emotions, rather than the danger she poses just by existing as she is.

( 3/5 )

[huntergames]

Normally a ride on the famous Nonah bullet train would excite Sasha, but without Connie, it loses half its appeal when she doesn't have someone to be awestruck with about modern day conveniences. She also has her arm in a sling, which lends to her quiet demeanor on the train; the doctors warned her against any strenuous activity or sudden movement which, in teenage terms, sucks.

It sucks a lot.

They didn't say anything against traveling out and she had sort of promised Dr. Crane she would tell him about the titans. Normally, she has no qualms about discussing most of the information the Corps had on them in public, but she didn't want to be publicly analyzed by someone who seems unnervingly good at it. Plus a promise is a promise.

She doesn't enter the room yet, half of her hidden behind the doorway so only her head can peek around curiously.

"Hello! I'm not interrupting you, am I?"

[restingstitchface]

"Absolutely not," Crane says quietly.

He denotes her physical state - or rather, the damage to it - and her attempts to shield herself from him. He's heard vulgar words, he's heard hisses and sighs and snorts and laughter. He's seen people wave their hands, he's seen them cross their arms and stuck their noses in the air. And he's seen patients who utilize their environment.

He steps away from the doorway, and with his hand clasped on the knob pulls the door open. He removes her protection - all under the guise of a polite welcome as he leans back on the wall so she can walk by. Or so she can have a closer look inside his room, to see what would be coming, to cultivate her paranoia and ripen her fear.

"Please. You've come a long way. Come inside and take a seat."

[huntergames]

He's fortunate enough that Sasha has never once stepped foot inside an office such as this one, so she isn't entirely unconvinced it's supposed to look a little closed off and strange. Having lived a good portion of her life in a small village, secluding herself from the world beyond it, growing up in a small cabin and having to share a bunk with three or four other girls in the barricades means she isn't completely weirded out by it.

Living in a place walled off from the rest of the world, one learns to adapt to the confinement for the most part. It's being in the open that is dangerous when titans roam the free lands.

Which is exactly what she's here to discuss, blissfully unaware of any other intentions Crane may have. There's nothing in her demeanor to indicate she's suspicious, only a touch embarrassed to have to be seen in her sling. Any other bruising is small and almost invisible at this point. She walks over to the couch, slowly taking a seat while eyeing the yucca tree with curiosity.

"What sort of plant is that?" she points to it.

[restingstitchface]

Crane's gaze flicks to the plant, his expression calm as he studies its tough, sword-shaped leaves and tree-like trunk. There's a tiny hint of a smile at the corners of his lips, and his tongue runs secretly against the lower one in thought.

There's a deep-rooted satisfaction about her curiosity that he can't ignore, regardless of her presence, her questioning or the proximity in which she's standing. People with curious minds - who asked how and why - could be lead up and down and side to side. They would ask their own questions and offer the information for his interpretation.

His head tilts slightly, and he glances at her over his shoulder. If there's anything else that satisfies him, it's the double-edged sword of her curiosity - it draws her closer to him, nearer and nearer those sharp, cutting knives, and she doesn't have a clue.

He shuts the door and walks behind his chair, hands clasped at his back.

"Yucca aloifolia. The dagger plant. Otherwise known as the Spanish bayonet." He slowly walks around and takes his seat. His hands open in a friendly gesture, before resting on his lap. "It's not something you're familiar with in your world?"

[huntergames]

Of course something that fancy looking would have some kind of fancy name. If Crane hadn't been watching, Sasha would have definitely prodded it by now. She does, however, lean in forward to peer at it closely before she seats herself properly again, turning her head back to Crane.

"It might be a local plant somewhere in the world," she starts, her eyes never staying on Crane's face too long, bouncing everywhere else in the room to examine the lack of details around them. Is it odd? She doesn't think so, but again, she's never been inside an office like this one before. "Probably way beyond the walls where we haven't been yet."

And given where that statement tends to lead, she quickly adds: "In my world, humans live behind three walls because of the titans."

Then she's watching for his own reaction. She's normally met with confusion and rarely understanding when she divulges these details of her world to strangers.

March 5th

[attainment]

"Thank you for taking the time to meet with me," Barnaby politely says as he follows Crane inside. The office's simplicity doesn't necessarily bother him -- if anything, he appreciates the lack of clutter. It indicates someone who's organized and possesses attention to detail.

Those are generally two traits Barnaby possess as well. Otherwise, he wouldn't have come prepared with a small notepad and a pen.

"Like I mentioned during our last conversation, I'm curious to see whether we'd be a good fit for each other, so..." He punctuates his words with a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes, "I brought some questions." It's a straightforward enough scenario, but Barnaby still tries to gauge the man's reaction.

[restingstitchface]

Crane eyes the notepad, curiously.

It tells him Barnaby is a man who collects information - though, his use of a creative instrument tells him he needs distance between himself and other people. The use of pencil and paper is logical and systematic, and their revealing deliberate. It's clear this young man has trust issues. He's paranoid about the nature of the person he's interviewing

It was an amateurish bid to reverse positions. A need to feel secure, and perhaps to use the information for something more. Crane keeps his thoughts to himself, not revealing much of anything. His expression is halfway between friendly and encouraging. Unlike Barnaby, his smile does reach his eyes.

"Certainly. I always encourage my visitors to record their thoughts and feelings. I'm a strong advocate for creative activities." He walks to his chair and gestures at the couch. "Take a seat."

[attainment]

"Thank you, sir." With a small nod, Barnaby settles down the couch, pen resting in his pale fingers while he neatly perches the notepad on his knee for now. He's already got a fairly solid outline for how he wants this meeting proceed, which probably suits Dr. Crane's busy schedule well enough. For that reason, he doesn't waste much time on small talk.

"I'm not sure how much you know about my case," he says, "but some of my medical history was leaked over the network. After thinking things over, I decided that, in my line of work, it's probably irresponsible to to continue as though my symptoms don't exist. That's why I'm meeting with you today."

Barnaby takes a moment to adjust his glasses. "From what I understand, you specialize in panic disorders."

[restingstitchface]

Crane can't avoid the issue of that leaked post. Everyone had seen it, talked about it, picked it apart and judged those it mentioned. He had cloaked his opinions and said nothing. He'd acted like it was nothing. Too fascinated by the deluge of psychological pain it had unleashed, he'd seen no need to plant seeds of distrust with people doing it for him.

He takes his journal and pencil from the side of the chair, then takes a moment to adjust his glasses - mirroring Barnaby's mannerisms. He's already homing in and giving Barnaby what he wants - no time wasted on small talk.

"Panic disorders and fears and phobias of all kinds, yes." He writes something down and keeps it to himself. "You are correct in stating that ignoring your problem cannot make it disappear. Living with it must be difficult for you."

[attainment]

"There are times when it interferes with my life," Barnaby carefully admits in a slow, even voice. "My nightmares can make sleeping difficult, which in turn only serves to aggravate my condition if it continues for too long. The holidays are an especially exhausting time of year for that reason, so I prefer to keep unnecessary socializing to a minimum during the colder seasons."

Not that he's a social butterfly during the spring and summer, but it's easier to set his emotional baggage aside when he's not being bombarded by imagery associated with his parents' deaths.

"I suspect it links back to the PTSD my file mentioned," he adds after a brief pause.