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

[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.

[restingstitchface]

[Crane gives a warm, intentionally paternal smile. He crosses his right leg and leans back, relaxed, like they're enjoying each other's company. This warm intimacy isn't asked for on Carl's part. That's why he's making him take it.

The funny thing about quagmires is that you sink deeper the more you struggle. Carl is caught in the middle and can't move. He shrugs slightly; there's butterflies in his stomach at having Carl under his thumb like this.]

No you don't, but since I'm not responsible for you, it's not my job to educate you. If you want to understand a man properly, Carl, you should go right up to his face and stare him down. Now answer my question, if you would. What qualities makes a father?

[112ounces]

[ Carl leans back as well, but not because he's mimicking Crane's posture. He's trying to create more space between him and Crane, to delay.

He's not going to hand Dad over to Crane. He's not going to touch Dad, he won't, Carl will rather die then let that happen, even if it is beyond Carl's control. ]

Being there for your kid.

[restingstitchface]

[Charming, Crane thinks.

He doesn't need to be physically close to Carl to deny him his space; he pins him to his chair with his eyes. No escape. Then he steeples his fingers and points them at him. This child's in one place and can't move without ending the meeting - a meeting he wanted in the first place. Carl couldn't stand up and leave without giving up.]

You know, Carl, that's a vague answer. Being there can mean anything. Elaborate for me, if you would, what it means to you.

[112ounces]

[ Carl looks away briefly, as if trying to gather his thoughts, before returning his gaze back to Crane. The guard behind him shifts his weight discreetly. ]

What's there to elaborate? You do what you can to make sure your kid is in one piece, no matter how bad things are around you.

[restingstitchface]

[He tilts his head.

Let Carl's guard be frightened. Let him shift, let him fidget. Let him - no, them - see who is in control. He cranes forward silently without leaning on his side of the desk. The uncomfortable surprise is for Carl; he moves forward when he's looking away, so he can find him looming when he returns his gaze.]

I see. And what would you do if that support is ripped away from you? Like today for instance. Your father isn't here. If he were, he wouldn't be pleased that you are sitting there today, for a start.

[112ounces]

[ Carl tensed when he returns Crane's graze and found him closer. ]

I've survived this world without him for months. Without anyone from my world. People come and go. I accepted that.

[ And Carl knows, Dad would have been so angry if he knew he's talking to Crane. But Dad would have never sever ties with Carl. And in the end, Dad will understand. Dad knows better than anyone the need to confront the enemy and at least try to end it.

Even if Carl is making a hack out of this confrontation. But it's not Carl's fault - he knows when it comes understanding people, Crane understands people far better than Carl can. ]

[restingstitchface]

[Carl's tension is thrilling. It makes him giddy. It makes him smile and he doesn't hide the satisfaction cracking his calm facade.]

Accepted. Past tense. [His shoulders draw in as he shifts in his chair.] Fascinating. I remember the adage it's better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. Everything about you is tied into your protector. If you lacked that adult who cares so much for you, why - who knows what you might be capable of?

[112ounces]

[ Carl is a cold statue, a look of clinical methodology with a hint of cruel ruthlessness shadowing his expression. A small but strong piece of Carl, locked away by the love and kindness he has relearned and cherished, briefly freed.

But it is soon gone, but the coldness remains. He doesn't reply - or at least not right away. The silence is loud, but Carl's memories of the cannibals are louder.

When he speaks, he sounds distant and far away. The guard looks at Carl with unease. ]

There was a group of people I've met back home. They had a place, living in some factory. They used to help people. Had signs giving directions to their home. I guess they were trying to rebuild civilization. I don't know. But they got the attention of the wrong people and was attacked. They fought and won, and ate their attackers.

[ He remembers the boxcar the cannibals used like it was yesterday. Hot and cramp. ]

My people and I went to their place after we lost our home. Was welcomed. But it wasn't a welcoming place anymore. It was a trap. So we killed most of them and left. When the remaining survivors came after us, we butchered them with knives and matchetes in a church.

[ The look came back, and Carl's voice isn't distant any more. It is louder but intimate. ]

I know what you are trying to do. Trying to make me like one of them. To be too far gone I wouldn't tell what is wrong or right until someone bigger and stronger cuts me down like my dad did to their leader. You would like that, wouldn't you?

[restingstitchface]

[It would be thrilling, yes.

He pushes his chair backwards, but the front legs don't rise from the floor. All four are screwed down. If he could just abduct this child once he escapes from this place and get him alone... breathing heavily... feeling scared... pleading for mercy only to find none... he would build him into someone better. It was a game. One of the kind he always won.

He thinks of trapping his great-grandmother in the aviary; it was technically a church. An abandoned chapel. A place of worship. The similarity isn't missed. His voice is quieter than Carl's. Softer, it's equally intimate in how it accepts and encompasses all his parts of self. Not just those that are family-friendly.]

I believe you would. You're the one who knows the consequences of being alone without someone bigger and stronger to take care of you.

[112ounces]

No. That's not what's going to happen. I'm not going to let it. I rather be the walking dead then have that happen.

[ The guard looks a little disturbed at this whole conversation and clearly wishes he has nothing to do with thiis. ]

And I'm not going to let you hurt my dad. There's nothing I can do to stop him from killing you, but you are not going to touch him.

[restingstitchface]

I'm not going to touch him, you know.

[Be silent. Use theatrics. Build up Carl's fear. He savors the slow pace and slowly slides his fingers together.]

You're capable of doing that by yourself.

[112ounces]

[ And Carl narrows his eyes. He's not scared - he's furious. He doesn't shout, but his tone doesn't hide his anger. ]

No.

[restingstitchface]

[Crane clicks his tongue in his cheek but keeps his cool. This childish temper is aggravating.]

You are and you know it. Self-delusion is a terrible problem, Carl. Fortunately, I can help you.

[112ounces]

[ Carl is doing his best to keep his temper in check. He's doing his best to control himself, but there's something coiled inside of him begging to strike. ]

Help? You call this help? You gassed me, and I have no idea to this day if I've killed someone, and now you are saying you can help me?

[ What a load of bullshit. ]

No. You can't help me.

[ Crane is only going to make it worse. ]

[restingstitchface]

They say the world is at it's darkest before the dawn, Carl. Are you too frightened to ask for help? Do you shake? Do you scream? Do you wake up in a cold sweat? Are you able to lean on your father for support? I will understand; I promise you that.

[He's not going to cover the myths and superstitions surrounding the solar eclipse. Fear. Bad omens. Demons eating the sun. The beginning of disaster and destruction. Much like this meeting, really.]

[112ounces]

[ Carl's shoulders are raised, but he doesn't realized it. ]

I have help.

[ Except Dad is gone and Ellie and Joel are gone to god knows where and he doesn't trust Chilton further he can throw a tractor and there is no one else - ]

[restingstitchface]

Of course you do.

[His eyes are staring; his gaze pins Carl to his chair like a bug to a board. He knows there's no-one else. Carl wouldn't be here otherwise. Paralyze. Frightened. Scared of fighting.]

Where is it?

[112ounces]

[ For once, Carl is at a loss for words. He doesn't know. He can't even remember why the idea of visiting Crane came to him. He has nothing now. Perhaps he thought it be better to confront nothingness by confronting someone who will gladly take, take, take and never give, except give all the worst gifts humanity can give. He doesn't know.

He has nothing, and there is nothing he can do about it.

So he looks away, unable to look at Crane anymore. ]