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)
maskormenacelogs2015-12-02 11:25 am
restingstitchface) wrote in maskormenacelogs2015-12-02 11:25 am
Entry tags:
I got a Nikon camera
WHO: Crane and Max
WHERE: ???
WHEN: 12/2. 12/8. 12/12.
WHAT: Max goes to sleep and lets a stranger in her head.
WARNINGS: All sorts of horrible triggers, trauma etc. Jefferson.
[Well, the magic had worked. There was no doubt about that.
It hadn't at all been easy to accept that it had worked. The part of his mind that was rooted to human science and understanding - his memory of opening that door, learning what lay beyond - couldn't swallow occult practices. He had studied violent people. Destructive people. People who liked the sound of their own voice. People who whipped out knives to intimidate people when they didn't get their way.
He couldn't discern their names or remember if he'd given them numbers. There were glimpses in his memory of capital letters and 1's and 8's. The thought they had once been given real, human names was dropping though his mind like water through a sieve. He narrows his eyes, accustomed to the dark. He notes the photographs strewn beneath his fingers; those framed and mounted to the wall; the open portfolio; the camera in his hands. There were flashes of patients he had never tortured, or drugged, or manipulated to use as menial labor. Those cases he had imagined would be good for the sake of appearances. Their names he couldn't remember either. But he feels he had found their cases fascinating.
Still, there had been a mask to wear back then. It had been so practical. He repeats the words calmly: back then. Back then had seemed so far away this morning. He leans against the table. He'd had his mask taken from him when he had been arrested and treated with disdain; back when he'd been stripped and had his back cleaned. It had been handed back upon his release. He didn't like other people touching it. But what had happened back then didn't seem important now. For all around him are details he can't tear his eyes from.
He doesn't say anything. He doesn't move except to, slowly, rest his right hand on the desk. This image of Max's teacher had seemed like it would be fun to exploit. He'd requested to slip inside it upon arrival, to take on his looks and see through his eyes, and the Devil had obliged. So, really, hasn't he just exchanged one mask for another? His left hand settles on his hip. Behind his glasses, he is that same cold, clinical intelligence.
Anyway, it's time to wait for the guest of honor. He gives up pretending to look bothered and crosses his arms. His head tilts forward and he keeps in his dark corner, looking as aloof as a house-cat - and just as pretentious.]
WHERE: ???
WHEN: 12/2. 12/8. 12/12.
WHAT: Max goes to sleep and lets a stranger in her head.
WARNINGS: All sorts of horrible triggers, trauma etc. Jefferson.
[Well, the magic had worked. There was no doubt about that.
It hadn't at all been easy to accept that it had worked. The part of his mind that was rooted to human science and understanding - his memory of opening that door, learning what lay beyond - couldn't swallow occult practices. He had studied violent people. Destructive people. People who liked the sound of their own voice. People who whipped out knives to intimidate people when they didn't get their way.
He couldn't discern their names or remember if he'd given them numbers. There were glimpses in his memory of capital letters and 1's and 8's. The thought they had once been given real, human names was dropping though his mind like water through a sieve. He narrows his eyes, accustomed to the dark. He notes the photographs strewn beneath his fingers; those framed and mounted to the wall; the open portfolio; the camera in his hands. There were flashes of patients he had never tortured, or drugged, or manipulated to use as menial labor. Those cases he had imagined would be good for the sake of appearances. Their names he couldn't remember either. But he feels he had found their cases fascinating.
Still, there had been a mask to wear back then. It had been so practical. He repeats the words calmly: back then. Back then had seemed so far away this morning. He leans against the table. He'd had his mask taken from him when he had been arrested and treated with disdain; back when he'd been stripped and had his back cleaned. It had been handed back upon his release. He didn't like other people touching it. But what had happened back then didn't seem important now. For all around him are details he can't tear his eyes from.
He doesn't say anything. He doesn't move except to, slowly, rest his right hand on the desk. This image of Max's teacher had seemed like it would be fun to exploit. He'd requested to slip inside it upon arrival, to take on his looks and see through his eyes, and the Devil had obliged. So, really, hasn't he just exchanged one mask for another? His left hand settles on his hip. Behind his glasses, he is that same cold, clinical intelligence.
Anyway, it's time to wait for the guest of honor. He gives up pretending to look bothered and crosses his arms. His head tilts forward and he keeps in his dark corner, looking as aloof as a house-cat - and just as pretentious.]
no subject
I don't give a shit what you think.
[Calm down, Max. This was only a dream. The real Mark Jefferson was rotting in jail.]
And what are you?
no subject
His left hand rests on his hip. The right supports him by leaning on the desk. This is fascinating. His eyes grow even icier as he looks at her with a cold, clinical focus. Like she's being pinned under a glass frame. He slightly cranes to his right.]
I'm that which captures you over and over, Max. [He is fear.] Nobody else will ever appreciate you the way I do. We need to catch up on all the time we've spent... apart.
no subject
You only caught me once. [She doesn't say his name.] And then, you were the one who'd been caught.
no subject
He slides off the desk and tilts forward. His shoulders and arms move like they're strung to a pole. They jerk and swing. Then he walks closer and his heels alternatively click and tread silently on the floor.
His arms are at his sides when he stops. Up close and ready to study. What would she do next? Hyperventilate? Sweat? He doesn't look like a predator. He's looking at her like she's an image to be studied.
Just not for the reasons she might be expecting.]
Of course, but how can I feel stuck behind walls when I have you here? [He lays one hand on his heart and one on his cheek. Then he puts them at his sides.] We can be happy together, over and over... together for life. Nobody else will ever appreciate you the way I do.
no subject
Bullshit. [Chloe appreciated her. Warren appreciated her. Kate appreciated her. Even Victoria did, after they'd set aside their differences.]
I'm not who I used to be. Too bad you'll never find that out.
no subject
He licks his lips and stands tall. The delight is thrilling. Then he grasps the situation and squeezes it. He grabs his camera and then steps closer, exerting a tighter control. Closing the distance, he tries to trap her in the doorway. If he had his toxin. If he had it... he could tell her a new dose would calm her down.]
No! Like I said, we have all the time in the world. There's nobody here that cares about you. Just like there's nobody left in your life. Now don't move. And don't run. This will be much easier if you just stay still.
no subject
She couldn't bring herself to respond as he reached for her, and she does, of course ignore him when he tells her not to run. Even now, she knows Blackwell like the back of her hand, and before he can raise his camera, she bolts, running as though she knows where she's going to go.
She doesn't, of course. Not really]
no subject
She was scared of him. That goes without saying.
He inhales deeply and pulls his shoulders back. His eyes close. His lips press together. He langrously stretches his neck and savors her terror. She's like Rachel Dawes. Confronted by fear after her pretentious display of courage, she'd turned and ran. There is nowhere for Max to go. Like there had been for Rachel to go. Arkham had been his spider's web. And the mind is a thing he can navigate. This is not Blackwell. Not really. He can savor it. Let her fear build in all its spine-tingling glory.
But he would need to make a start, eventually. He begins chasing her without saying a word.
Till his voice calls in the halls.]
Where do you think you're going, Max? Stay still! [Don't ruin his shots, bitch!] Don't even think about leaving till we've discussed this.
no subject
But here she is, running. She doesn't know what to do, so she keeps going, stumbling as she blindly shoves things around as she runs past them, hoping they'll slow him down.]
no subject
The thrill. His eyes open wide. His lips part and his cheeks flush. His heart pounds faster and he feels his pulse in his neck. She can't pull those standing lockers to the ground. Yellow doors? Those are open far enough for him to see into the hall beyond. How empty Blackwall's halls are. Full of the signs of student life without a single student. How alone she is in her dreams. How abandoned she must feel in the real world.
And there he goes, chasing her down. Another notice board falls, clattering on the floor. The vending machine would slow her down. Too heavy. But the fire extinguisher flying towards him? It clips his knee. Stiff and painful. Intolerably warm. Everything that can provide information is observed. The bigfoot banner. The pink anti-bullying shroud. Max's school has a culture that permeates violence against the defenseless, like any other.
He casts his eyes around. Where is she? Where oh where?
The women's bathroom, perhaps? The door seems ajar.]
no subject
So there she is, trembling in the dim fluorescent lights, not daring to move or close her eyes, for fear of what she'll see when she opens them again.]
no subject
The lights vanish and the bathroom plunges into darkness. His posture isn't so controlled now. His arms swing as he steps closer, shoes clacking on the tiles. She was frightened of shadow. He had been baptized in it, or been smothered. Wings beating. Talons ripping and clawing and shredding. He doesn't step out further from the exit, blocking her ability to move around him without going through him. And this body is taller than his own. Physically stronger.
And physical strength isn't the only power, here. He moves as if to turn around and stare down.
And there she is. Barely illuminated. Living in the gutter. Unable to move or close her eyes because she's that frightened.
Boo!]
Look at you. Stuck in a dark corner in a moment of desparation.
[So frightened and alone. It's beautiful. The school bell rings loudly, interrupting the time. Thought it's out of time and the halls are silent and empty. He tilts his head. It doesn't matter.]
Don't even think you're leaving here till we've had our little chat.
no subject
[Frightened and desperate, the word comes out before she can stop herself. Max scrambles backward, instinctively throwing the bucket at him.
She knows it won't really help, but she’s got something else. I can't go through this again. Max reaches out with her right arm to rewind, and then...
And then she wakes up.]