They're callin' again

[restingstitchface]

WHO: Crane and open.
WHERE: A jail, prison, in Maurtia Falls. Call it as you like.
WHEN: Four weeks during November.
WHAT: Crane loves having visitors. If your character wants to come and tell him he's a piece of trash through plexiglass, let's do that. A disappointment? It's all good. Should they want to seek his advice for some nefarious scheme, let's do that too. But don't clue in the guards.
WARNINGS: Crane is here, saying Crane things. So, though he's powerless, visitors are likely to see this develop into an impromptu session. Visitors will find their powers are nullified.


I | CARL | 11/2


[It had been so easy to find his test subjects. So, so easy - and none of them had realized it!

His lips smirk slightly and he gently folds his hands in his lap. It's easy to pick out the weak-minded from the figurative haystack of the network. Open the doors of their imagination and leave slivers of fear inside. Make their minds twist in horror. Not a single one could exist in silence. It would be terrifying and cruel. He would force them all to see how empty and meaningless their lives were, and then drive them all towards him for answers. To hope their fears would cease when they see he is nothing but a man.

But he's more than Jonathan Crane. Plans come alive in his mind;

In here, they believe him powerless. They couldn't be more wrong. His eyes dart around; right, left, up and down. These walls cannot hold him. He wields the considerable power of his mind and his insight. All he is doing is collecting his thoughts and biding his time. His eyes are half-closed in thought as he says nothing about his latest visitor for a good while. To have this freedom - to not care about the consequences - is so liberating that he doesn't feel like speaking at first. But eventually he has to.]

Good afternoon, Carl. Today I thought we could discuss something you like to talk about. [A pause] I know; why don't you share your thoughts about your relationship with your adoptive father? I would be highly interested in hearing your thoughts.


II | HARLEY | 11/3


[Crane sits alone in the box-sized interview room. It has been four weeks since his imprisonment. Twenty-eight days since he's felt the natural wind. Nearly two months since his - Dr. Crane's - interment. No, nine, he reminds himself. Time flows here. Nine months; the process of birth. He had been alone in Arkham with his thoughts; held in isolation and separated from other patients. He had said no words and rebuilt himself. Integrated his own desires and needs, rather than keep them at arm's length or behind a mask. He had let the shadow - all his fear - take him over. He had suddenly found his own field of view narrowly limited - but at the same time it had given him a new perspective.

The harsh flourescence of the overhead light strip casts Crane in shadow - giving his pale skin a pallor. He tilts his head and carefully eyes his visitor. The ice-blue eyes he stares with aren't the eyes of Dr. Crane any longer. Scarecrow or Crane. One or the other... or both?]

There's no need to be so quiet. This isn't home, after all.


III | OPEN - WILDCARD | 11/2-30


[Feel free to write your own starters!

Crane's a dick. If he can deny your character a visit because it'll press them under his thumb, he will. Feel free to assume this has happened for your tags. He'll agree to a session if they're persistent. If your character wants to yell at him for this, pester his inbox. If your character prefers a video call over a face-to-face encounter, especially if they're a minor, log it here as a video conference.]

Comments

[112ounces]

[ Carl has not come alone. By the laws of the land, Carl is still a minor and is in need of an adult's hand. With no father, no offical guardian to stand by Carl's side, the prison gave Carl one of their own - a relatively large guard who is used to making his size to intimidate others. Little does he know he will be over hearing a conversation that will make him wish he never got the job as a prison guard.

Carl gives the guard a cool glance before sitting down. There's a phone there, but Carl doesn't touch it. He's too busy staring at Crane. He looks more dangerous in prison than he did as a therapist in the city. He looks like a man who feels free to show whatever he is, whoever he is. His skin pale, eyes bright and half closed and a mouth grim with cruelty, he looks no different than some of the survivors Carl has encountered back home. It makes Carl feel bitter that he didn't catch that in Crane before it was too late.

As Carl studied Crane, his expression changed from wariness to a deep introspection, of judging, of staring at the room around them and back at Crane. He's been to a room like this before, back home. He wonders if trapped in this room with Crane, Carl can find the means to get out - or pull at the walls to make some weapons to kill Crane, like he and the others have done while trapped in a boxcar.

He was becoming so used to the silence he almost startle at Crane's voice. Carl's face darkens, realizing he should have expected this topic of conversation to come up -until one word has completely thrown Carl for a loop. ]

What are you talking about?

[ Carl doesn't have any adopted fathers. Except for, perhaps, Shane. But Carl never told Crane about Shane - so how does Crane know? Does Carl have to go back to the network and look to see if he made any reference to Shane at all? He knows Crane has an eye on Carl, but there has to be no way Crane to know about Carl's first kill ]

[restingstitchface]

[Crane doesn't eye the guard. He's focused on his research, on learning what lies inside Carl's mind. The child's scanning the room like a young predator caught before a bigger, stronger beast. His eyes darting with the speed and ingenuity he remembers employing during his time in Arlen, when it had been a matter of survival to utelize the einvironment in a way that made up for his physical shortcomings.

He is then studied. Intensely, he feels, with the kind of force that one employs when they've experienced a dangerous situation before. He finds himself growing more curious - wanting to dig deep into the memories that make Carl tick. Two words gives him enough and he's speaking immediately.]

Your father. One of them, you know. [Such a soft, patient kind of voice. Carl's a patient now. He doesn't need to say Rick's name.] This must be a difficult time for you; to have no idea of what's happening; to have no answers for your questions. Is he safe? Is he with people who have his back? You might have to live the rest of your life here without any answers. Can you handle that?

[112ounces]

[ Carl cross his arms. ]

And who do you think is my second dad?

[ his voice is cold, and the quiet undertone is not unlike one speaks while heavily focused on something else. Carl's mind is already driven to a time long ago, where Carl had to make a choice to let a kid barely older than he is walk free or fall dead.

He's not going to reward Crane with any answers. Not when the answers are obvious to Carl, no matter how much he wishes to be otherwise. ]

[restingstitchface]

Well, that depends on what qualities define a father. Some children and fathers are related by blood. Others are bonded together through acceptance into the maternal line or adversity.

[His voice is calm, clinical and curious. His eyes are sharp and focused on uncovering everything about Carl, whilst denying Carl a look into everything about himself. The importance of his own parents is pretty obvious, not that he's ever going to admit it.]

What qualities must a man possess for you to call him father, Carl?

[112ounces]

[ Crane doesn't know about Shane, Carl realizes. He's just fishing, and Carl took the bait. Hook, line, and sinker.

Talking to Crane used to be clinical, methodical, nothing attached. Now it's a goddamn quagmire. He narrow his eyes slightly. ]

Everything you are not.

[ Blunt. ]

I saw that post you mentioned the last time we talked. I still don't see the similarities.

[itistolaugh]

[ Harley ignores him at first. She's too distracted taking in how different it is to be a visitor. It's quiet. There are no screams even if she strains to hear. The absence is unsettling.

She doesn't acknowledge him, not even a glance his way, as she drags the visitor chair over the bare floor with a hideous scraping noise. She turns the chair around to sit backwards in it, knees on either side of the seat and her arms crossed over the back.

That's when she finally gives him attention, rapping her knuckles on the plexiglass like he was a fish in a tank, and taking the receiver. ]

Hi, Puddin'. Missed me?

[restingstitchface]

[Crane says nothing as she takes in the box room.

He says nothing as she ignores him. He just stares. He'd spent much of his life cultivating an image of normality. He'd worked hard to hide his real face till that night; preventing his colleagues seeing the monster he was inside.

He's watching so intently that Harley's rapping of the plexiglass doesn't catch his attention till a couple of seconds later, and he's swiping the receiver off the wall.]

Well, I had expected to miss you for another hour. Perhaps two. [Joke's over.] You're horribly attached to the idea I miss you. What makes you believe I enjoy your company?

[Not said in a totally shitty tone of voice!]

[itistolaugh]

[ Harley looked at the clock in alarm. Oh crap! Daylight Savings! Ugh, that meant she'd been showing up for work on time. No wonder everyone seemed surprised when she got in. What if they started expecting it?! ]

You're the one who made this appointment. Practically demanded to see me. Or don't you remember?

[restingstitchface]

[That darting glance at the clock? Noted. He files away her specific responses to alarm; the sudden movements and micro-expressions that make him feel warm and comfortable. A sudden, sharp shock of panic? Yes. That's quite lovely.]

On the contrary, I haven't forgotten. And I didn't demand anything. That's the beauty of planting ideas and watching them grow. Your minds water them and you believe you thought of the idea all by yourselves. But I have specific questions.

[He cranes forward in his chair.]

Indulge me. We haven't spoken of how we've met before. I'm curious.

[itistolaugh]

[ Harley rolls her eyes at him. He can go on about mind games all he likes, but he wouldn't have bothered talking to her in the first place if he didn't want her to be here now. He's so funny. Does he have any idea how funny he is? ]

Uh, what? You were there.

III

[followorders]

[After several instances of being denied entrance by the prisoner's refusal to accept his visit, Locus is finally led inside. He's in full armour, his guns and other weapons confiscated for the duration of his visit. Still, he had the energy sword that no one suspected to be a weapon when the handle remained just that when anyone but him held it.

Silently, he takes a seat, helmet staring back at the good--]

Doctor.

[restingstitchface]

[Crane holds that impassive gaze and doesn't show any reaction to it. He stares back and shows no fear - not of the helmet that hides this man's emotions, nor his controlled behavior. They all crack in the end.]

That's who I was and it's what I am. And here you are to discuss matters in person. You know the value of my time. [The cost of it.] So why are you here?

[Of course he knows. It's business; this is his way of getting to the point.]

[followorders]

[Locus is not the type to waste his time with pointless riddles, so he outright ignores it to get to the point.]

I'm looking for someone.

I was told you might be know how to find them.

[restingstitchface]

I might know, yes. Tell me their name.

[How's this for not wasting time? He's never been one for riddles either. Lateral thinking is an entirely different beast. In fact, one might say his thoughts are too unconnected to grasp the thread that binds the riddle together.]

[followorders]

I don't know it.

[A blunt statement. He'd been trying to find out their name for weeks now. It was frustrating tracking someone with so little information at his disposal. He at least knew they had connections in the underground world. They wouldn't have personally hired his partner, Felix, for mercenary work if they kept themselves completely in the shadows. Still, it was difficult finding out his partner's secret employer with nothing else to go on, especially when Felix refused to give him any details after Peter Pan threatened to kill him if he tried to expose him leaving Locus with nothing else to go by but their methods.

The trail was growing cold and he needed more information which was why he was here in the first place. He knew the good doctor had his contacts in the underground. He must know people who at least were known to hire mercenary's for their plans. Locus needed a clue and at this point, even the words of a crazed man were better than nothing... or so he hoped.]

[takethestairs]

[Finally, finally, Crane has allowed him to visit. But why now? What does Crane have planned in that twisted little skull of his?

Edgeworth tries not to let these thoughts rattle him. He's here to show Crane that he' failed. That he hasn't let Crane defeat him. That, for all that Crane's done to him, he's come back stronger than before. So he strides into the visitation room, his back straight and his head held high, every movement slow and imperious as he takes his seat]

It's been quite some time, hasn't it, Doctor?

[restingstitchface]

[That imperious display? Not that impressive.

It's clear enough why Miles is holding himself straight. Head held high and back straight. He's controlling himself because he's scared. If he were truly strong, he would not be making a show about it all. His movements would be fluid and natural.

Much like his own as he slides his fingers together and gently tilts his head.]

Yes it has. How are you feeling, Miles?

[takethestairs]

Quite well, thank you.

[He speaks coolly, and he folds his hands over the table as he relaxes in his seat.]

And you, Crane? I hope your stay here hasn't been too dull.

[restingstitchface]

That's the opposite of what you'd like to hear, isn't it?

[He deliberately mirrors that body language; he rests his hands on the table and slides his fingers together as he almost seems to slumber in his chair. His tone is calm and level.]

Why do you ask to the contrary? Come out and say it if you can. It's not difficult, you know. You need to see me locked away from society; bored and starved of mental stimulation. Right now, you're wasting your time and mine.

[takethestairs]

[He stares at him for a moment, before tilting his nose up, as if Crane's comeback wasn't even worthy of his attention, much less a response]

What changed your mind, Crane? About letting me visit.

11/15/2015

[christmaspun]

[The click-click-click of heels on the concrete floor announces the presence of a familiar face. At least, familiar at first blush; it's obvious that the Kristin Kringle that left this place the last time they had seen each other is not the same woman walking back into it.

Once-bright green eyes seem just a little darker as they regard the man behind the transparent divider, expression as cold as the impending winter chill. When she speaks, her tone is equally icy - the rasp is gone since that phone call, replaced by...something else. An edge. A chip where the surface had been smooth before.

Yes, something has changed. Something deep and damaging. This time, the visit isn't aimless...it's not led by confusion. She knows exactly what she's doing.]

Hello, Doctor Crane.

Let's talk.

[restingstitchface]

[A change brought about by the fear of something horrific. A visible mark. An ending of one life and the beginning of another. His expression is calm and emotionless as he watches her sit down and stare at him. Kristen is not the same woman that had walked out of this jail last month; but she isn't different. A fault line under the surface had moved and had blown up her anger and hatred - and a vicious need for retribution. He knows exactly what he's seeing.

His fingers slide together in his lap. Not that he'd call it damaging, mind. It's rebirth. She's going to make everyone pay. He idly taps his thumbs together.]

There is plenty of time to talk. Pray tell, what do you wish to talk about first?

[First. Either way, he expects certain information. He knows enough to not reveal his cards first.]

[christmaspun]

[Kristin would still call it pretty damaging for the time being, whether Crane agrees or not. She's still in the stage of being broken where she hasn't pulled herself back together completely yet - she hasn't brushed glue over the seams, or repainted the blush on the cracked face.

She draws a deep breath in through her nose, releasing it in a soft hiss through her teeth. There's a moment of thought, of deliberation over whether she really does want to do this:]

Let's start with you, shall we? You and your father?

I don't expect you really care about what happened to me, anyway. Let's cut to the chase.

[restingstitchface]

[Oh, but he cares. Her wounds, her manner and her behavior are providing information. She's still broken and he's looking to steal a piece. One morsel that's part of the whole. She seems to understand nothing about who she is, or was, to have suffered so - nor who she could be with appropriatesupport.

He tilts his head, birdlike. He glances at her through half-closed eyes.]

Well, it's become public knowledge that I was raised by my great-grandmother. It was the month before you came here. [So there's no harm in repeating it.] Do you want to know my father's name? It was Gerald. I believe you're aware of that. Now tell me what you know. That was our agreement.

[christmaspun]

You keep talking about this 'agreement' as if there IS such a thing. I've consented to nothing, and I will tell you what want I tell you, until I do not see fit to tell you any more. Pressing me will not serve you, not when I am finally willing to be forthcoming.

[The tone isn't cruel, nor is it angry - it's level, clinical. Like reading a file. She's detached herself from the situation. Detached herself from everything, really.]

Yes, I know his name was Gerald. But - to my knowledge - HE was the one who raised you, Doctor. There was no great-grandmother in your file.