Jonathan Crane (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
restingstitchface) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
maskormenacelogs2015-03-01 05:47 am
restingstitchface) wrote in maskormenacelogs2015-03-01 05:47 am
[Open] We'll murder them amid laughter and merriment
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."
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."
no subject
He wonders why Ed's avoiding the topic of his mother. What had made him discuss Nina first? She certainly had an effect on his motivation. He studies Ed's body language again. Enlightened isn't the best way to describe how he feels when he joins the two incidents together. Now he needs confirmation.
"I see. Perhaps it's best Nina didn't live to suffer." Lies. He loved to witness people suffer. "Still," he gestures at Ed's fake arm. "That didn't happen for no reason, did it?"
no subject
Ed bristles at that reminder. Nina. The reminder that he was just one tiny insignificant human, a boy who couldn't save that one little girl no matter how much of a prodigy he might be. It haunts him every day since. Something he never forgot and never would. Something he probably hasn't even told Winry about either, necessarily. At least, not in this detail.
His grip at his auto-mail, the sleeve at the right arm tightens as he tenses at the question. But he can't deny it. Not if he's supposed to be honest with the guy, even if he is fobbing most everyone else off about a vague accident, or that it happened during the civil war back home in the East.
"It....no. It was my fault. After our mum died...I...just wanted to see her smile again."
no subject
"Anyone would, Ed. As contrite as this sounds, it's perfectly natural to feel that way when someone's lost to you."
no subject
They'd just wanted to see Trisha's smile again. And it all went horribly wrong. Costing far too much. Ed losing his leg, Al his entire body before Ed managed to reach to bind his soul to Hohenheim's suit of armor. All because of their pride, their love. Of course Ed doesn't go telling just anyone the details, but this stuff is supposed to be confidential, and it is relevant to Ed's nightmares, so he figures it's something he should open up on.
no subject
He shakes his head. In both cases, he'd shown no pity or mercy in frightening those secrets into the light. Many of his patients had found it impossible to cope; some had required suicide watch after he'd come to visit them in the night. He'd then drop in on them in the day, wearing the other mask of the good, helpful doctor.
Some cases, like this, were disappointingly easy, even though the fruit was ripe. He hadn't needed to make Ed scream, or gotten him to cry. All he'd had to do was hit him with a stick to loosen the apple from the tree.
"That obviously didn't happen," he says observantly. It had cost Ed an arm, though not a leg. "I'm more surprised at you, speaking honestly. Raising the dead and playing god are some of society's greatest taboos, I'm certain you're aware. Though, I suppose you just wanted to talk to her again..."
no subject
To make things right. To get Al his body back. Perhaps Crane might consider that to be easy, and in a way it is, there's no major secret to that, if someone really pries and is curious enough to figure there being a link in Ed's auto-mail and the state his brother was in. But there's more to it, so much guilt, so many fears that stemmed from that night it would still be interesting for Crane to probe for more details. The more information Crane pried out of him, the closer he would be to remembering, being sent back into that state of panic at remembering.
no subject
Crane can't read minds, but he can read behaviour and the meaning and motive hidden behind speech. He knows he's only seeing one facet of the secret Ed's hiding, and there's a flicker of his eyes towards Ed's auto-mail - then they flicker up, to stare piercingly at his eyes.
no subject
Not that Crane was around back when Alphonse was still in Heropa, but it's implicit enough on Ed's own toll he paid, given the auto-mail. He's used to the staring at least, able to stand his ground on that easily enough even as he watches Crane's gaze to his arm.
"I lost my leg. Al...his whole body was taken in exchange with the rebound. My arm was taken when I bound his soul to a suit of armor. He couldn't eat, sleep, cry or feel anything for years. Of course I feel guilty over it. But I'm told it works out. That I get his body back."
no subject
There's just Crane.
"So what? That doesn't magically change how your brother is forced to exist here and now, does it? What are you going to do to make things right now?"
no subject
Not the best, not guaranteed but that is all Ed can think of from here. Here in Heropa and what he can do right now. Which still doesn't feel like enough, but then they were chasing legend back home, a pipe-dream. And Ed still managed. Somehow. He purses his lip, hands at his lap as he looks between Crane and the carpet.
Are you up for wrapping up this thread soon?
It's not the most unique thing he can say, but Crane's itching to get back to his personal, private work. He doesn't want to steer Ed away from the overgrown path he'd succeeded in leading him down; he certainly doesn't want him back on a cultivated, well-maintained lane that gifts him a sense of fearless normality. How boring.
"Now, is there anything else I can do for you?"
sure, we still have the other more recent log going so it's fine for me to wrap this up.
At least, that's how he assumes this stuff goes. It's difficult to talk about all this in just one session, right? It brings up things he'd rather not think on, but that's the point of this, isn't it? Or so he figures. Too oblivious on this to really know what to expect but figuring this should work. Should help, somehow, in talking about things.
Okay. Then this tag's it for me.
Crane's tone is deep; his hands fold again in his lap. Business. Contact. Socialization. With his eyes half-closed and his lips pressed thinly, the term looks to be a difficult one to settle. Business to Crane is about knowing what buttons to press to acquire resources for his work.