[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

[restingstitchface]

Crane notices the slight deference in Henry's tone, his acknowledgement and acceptance of his betters. That Henry is smart to recognize his superiority in the field of human behavior, and would defer to him on the matter - he has to keep a careful face and concentrate on the little details to avoid showing he's utterly thrilled by his unearthing another part of his puzzle. Very, very careful. From swallowing his happiness to throwing figurative ice-cold water on his excitement.

His delight at Henry's perceptiveness was already becoming visible, he knows; he briefly gives a small smile - best to acknowledge a compliment, he thinks - to work off the natural emotion, before gently leaning forward to watch Henry over the frame of his glasses.

There's concern - his eyes don't show much, but it's brief and considerate of the weight that's on Henry's shoulders.

The impression Crane was seeking was that though Henry may falter, he would be there to pick him up and give him the tools he needed to look after himself.

"No. But you are intimately familiar with your own, Mr. Quartermain." He gives him a quiet, analytical look. "Do you enjoy reading? Forgive me, but you seem innately curious with the contents of my bookshelf, more than the workings of your mind. It's a common thing, that we seek a distraction when we're afraid. What exactly are you running from?"

[thebatbutler]

It had been a wise choice to address Crane in such a manner if the emotions he can now sense coming from the man are any indication. Happiness mixed with excitement, although the doctor is careful not to let it show through more than a small smile. The control that he exhibits over his emotions is extraordinary, but he is, as Alfred had said, an expert in the field of human behavior. If he hadn't known any better, he would have found Crane to be entirely trustworthy as a therapist.

As it is, the other man leans over with what has to be feigned concern in his eyes and Alfred knows, logically, that Crane - Scarecrow - is dangerous. He's a threat and not one to be taken lightly. And yet, he finds himself drawn to trust him, to spill out his heart and soul even though rationally that makes no sense.

His eyes flicker to the books again. "Yes. I... Well, I used to enjoy reading, but I'm afraid I haven't had much time for it recently. You see, I've only recently lost my son. It's... It's been a difficult several months."

And there it was.

[restingstitchface]

Crane's gaze remains level on Henry for a short while. He furrows a brow, then he relaxes slowly before leaning back, exhaling the seriousness of the man's news. His closes his eyes and inhales, slowing time down. Then he opens his eyes slowly and refocuses his gaze where Henry is sitting. There was something he'd been waiting since for since Henry walked through his door; it was this.

His head bows ever so slightly, and he turns his palms up in his lap. It's all a carefully planned image of calm professionalism and empathy. Now he understands exactly what Henry is suffering. It's exciting. It's hypnotically fascinating, and it generates a flood of thought. All of it's buried beneath his stoicism and controlled mannerisms.

And Henry has no clue.

"Yes. I can imagine." His words come soothingly, searching for what hurts. "Well. I'm afraid the next few months won't get easier for you. Time won't bring relief. But sharing stories about him will keep his memory alive. Would you like to tell me some? Or would you just like to forget?"

[thebatbutler]

Clearly psychology is something of a fascination for Dr Crane - unsurprising given that he'd made it his life's work. It's feeling that fascination directed at the pain of his patient that's unsettling, and Alfred has to wonder if all psychologists feel this way about human behavior or if this is something unique to Crane himself. Either way, it's an uncomfortable sensation, knowing that someone else is reveling in your grief, no matter the reasoning behind it.

The discomfort is brief though. Because, after all, Alfred can trust this man with anything - should trust this man with anything - right? He frowns slightly at both the feelings that he's not certain are his own and the question that Crane asks. At least the latter is easily enough addressed.

"Which would you recommend? I'm... I'm not certain that I would want to forget. He was my son and he was a good man. A soldier. He-" Henry pauses long enough to swallow his grief before continuing, steadying the slight waver in his tone. "He was killed, fighting for what's right. I just. I don't know if I can talk about him yet."

It shouldn't be shocking, with the loss of a son so recently, that Henry would be less willing to talk about it. And Alfred doesn't wish to give everything up in this first session, even pressed as he is to trust Crane and tell him everything.

[restingstitchface]

Crane's reaction is sympathetic; his eyes flicker, making contact, and his head nods in understanding. There's no rush to make Henry face his grief, but that's because it's part of his analytical approach not to rush what life would cause naturally. He was hopeful to be there when it happened. To see and learn and to genuinely enjoy it.

He's not compassionate at all.

He leans forward, closer to the edge of his seat - a warm gesture of attention for Henry's benefit - and doesn't let further sympathy show. Henry had come here for professional guidance.

"Well. I recommend you heed the fact life brought you here for a reason. If you back off halfheartedly, you'll be running all your life. I cannot tell you what you must do; but were our positions reversed, I would surround myself with beauty. I would eat and drink well, and indulge in what I enjoy." A pause for breath. For Crane, that was his work. "And should the darkness encircle me, I would penetrate it and struggle with the pain till light clears the black and reveals my fear."

He hides that he's got the experience to know what he's talking about. From Arkham, and long before. "I would wrestle and face my fear. For that is also part of me. What I wouldn't do it run and refuse to be true to my self."

[thebatbutler]

His reaction might be sympathetic, but his emotions tell another story. Still, Alfred finds himself giving Crane a small, hopeful smile in answer to his perceived sympathy and, strangely, he finds himself comforted by both the doctor and his words.

Henry nods, agreeing that, as the expert on the subject, Dr Crane's advice would not lead him astray. There is, however, one thing that he questions. "You're saying that I should face my fear, doctor, but fear is not what brings me here. It's grief. Aren't those two separate things?"

Even if he can see how they might be intertwined, he's still curious as to what Crane might say about the subject. The fact that he mentions fear is... interesting, given that this is their first meeting here and Scarecrow has his fear toxins. Fear is quite obviously something that fascinates him, but Alfred hadn't thought he would reveal that so easily. Then again, he has no reason to suspect that Henry is anything more than what he seems.

[restingstitchface]

"C.S. Lewis once said, "No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear". Do you know he was reflecting on the experience of bereavement following the death of his wife?"

Crane tilts his head slowly, and he leans gently into his chair, using the silence to contemplate a few things. He understands Henry's feelings, but the death of his great-grandmother had filled him with a warm sense of freedom. She had died, and he had feared nothing. Talking about bereavement warmed him with that same feeling - that he was riding a wave or walking on clouds.

"I admit you're not scared, but there is the same pervasive sense of loneliness."

His eyes turn back on Henry. "He wrote a whole book about the subject. I would recommend you find a copy. If you enjoy reading, I suppose."