I ate civilization. It poisoned me; I was defiled.

[restingstitchface]

WHO: Crane and OPEN.
WHERE: Crane's residence and Nonah.
WHEN: Feb 1st - Feb 9th.
WHAT: Jonathan is attending court-mandated appointments. Catch-all log.
WARNINGS: None foreseen.


A: Crane's residence

[Crane hasn't gone unwatched since his experiment last August. He imagines both real and digital eyes have been on him since his freedom had been regained in November. They have been watching him in fear; terrified of his unknown intentions; in awe of his work. The raw power of his intelligence had brought him to the forefront of their minds. His name would never be forgotten. He had controlled their raw fear and inflicted it on them. He had controlled them by controlling their emotions. Controlling their emotions, he had been in control of everything.

He won't remain unwatched once his parole expires in two weeks. It had been apparant within a few minutes of first tasting freedom that he would be subject to intense scrutiny. So he had played along. Other than those willing to visit and indulge him in what they called insanity, he had been compliant. Compliant with the court. Compliant with his court-mandated treatment.

Compliant during treatment was another matter, but that could wait.

He leans back against his chair and sits quietly. He had opened the front door to his guest and followed them into his sitting room. Anyway, his eyes are cold and his face free of emotion. Thoughts are hidden behind that calm facade; curiosity, mostly. He needs to know what makes his visitor tick. He wants to use his control. He tilts his head in an appraising way. This person seems eager to pry. Quid pro quo. That's fair, right? He leans forward and flashes a boyish smile at his visitor.]

Come now. Standing in a man's home is no way to behave. Please sit down.


B: Uptown Nonah

[Demure. Quiet. Crane had rarely been one to speak up at Arkham. Everyone worked around him. They had learned to fear his authority and his sharpness. Orderlies and members of security who had thought to challenge his medical authority had been dealt with. The reversal in fortune had not been without consequences. They had dropped his title. He had swallowed his annoyance. They had jeered. Taunted.

But he had kept his silence.

Now he stands just outside one of Nonah's clinics, a private psychiatric practice, seeking some solitary time before heading in. Every time he walked through that door, they wanted him to talk about his childhood. He had never been forthcoming with those who engaged him with sympathy. But he had controlled the conversation as much as he could manage. A discussion of his childhood had become a discussion about his love of literature, the enjoyment of Joyce and Huxley and Orwell. So they had asked him why he had been attracted to fear as an emotion; questioned what sparked his fascination. So he had spoken of control and power, spiced with a bit of religious fervor. Presented himself differently to what they imagined. Then gone back to his demure, harmless self. One occasion had seen them ask what frightened him - a laugh and a moment later, and that question was turned around.

Things had become more difficult lately, mind. But he would adapt. A moment passes before he's aware of someone watching him - he hears their footfalls and gives a short sigh. He folds his arms and lightly drums his fingers.]

Good morning.

[If it's the afternoon, he hasn't noticed.]


III: Wildcard

[Hit me up with whatever you like! Crane is only permitted outside to attend court-mandated appointments; his probation officer and medical requirements. Please bear this in mind.]

Comments

A

[mousquetaire]

[ At the start of this little arrangement of theirs, d'Artagnan had been a mostly stoic presence in this house. He inevitably chose to remain standing, mostly because he thought it would irritate Crane.

He has obviously matured past that point, since his reaction now is to drop heavily into the sofa and lift his feet up onto the coffee table. He leans back, hands folding behind his head. He looks comfortable. ]

I don't mind if I do.

I thought I'd check on you after the session today. [ With the therapist, he means. D'Artagnan has no remote faith in that treatment, and this belief has not changed during their time together. ] How did it go?

[restingstitchface]

[Crane doesn't say anything, doesn't move, when those feet - laced and booted - drop onto the coffee table. A flash of annoyance livens the space behind his eyes. His composure is still intact, but it's turned several degrees cold.

His posture is equally brittle. He clears his throat.]

Like I expected. [He makes eye contact.] They danced around the questions they really wanted to ask me. People like that are eager to pry but lack the mettle to put their questions into words. [He runs his tongue over his lips, then clucks it within his cheek when it comes back in.] It was dull. Predictable.

[mousquetaire]

And useless, no doubt.

[ What was the point of a treatment for a man who didn't want to be treated? The problem remains that Crane feels no remorse for what he'd done. He's playing along, yes, but d'Artagnan doesn't believe that he's really changed. Not at heart.

No true criminal ever does. The real spirit of a man will always win out.

Though, perhaps he might grow wiser in the doing. ]

What would you ask yourself? You're the great doctor, after all, and clearly you know better than they. You tell me what they're doing wrong.

[restingstitchface]

[The look on Crane's face shifts a little. He quirks a brow. Question himself? He rolls his eyes, leans forward with one hand on his knee. There had been no questioning of himself since he was a young man. Not since those days when he had learned about fear. Fear and power. He isn't going to start now.]

Very well. I honestly wouldn't ask myself anything.

[A small smile.]

Let me rephrase. I enjoy being myself. I am not scared of being myself. [He sniffs. These people. Cowards and morons, all.] They are wrong in believing themselves to be on my level. They are wrong to believe I care what they think. Does that answer your question?

[mousquetaire]

[ Well, of course they can’t help him if he thinks himself above them. That only makes this ‘treatment’ seem more ridiculous.

Still, it’s strange to see the workings of this man’s mind. He’s not remotely normal. He doesn’t think the way most people do. There’s something fundamentally wrong, there, something broken. D’Artagnan doesn’t know why, but he’s more convinced of it than ever. He shrugs, looking away and lifting his eyes to the ceiling. ]

I don’t know. I don’t think they believe you care. I think they assume there’s some reason why you do what you’ve done, and if they can discover it, they’ll make you better.

[ His scepticism is obvious – but then, it always has been. ]

Even if that’s possible, I don’t think it could work unless you wanted it to. You know there are those who think you strain at your bonds even now.

[restingstitchface]

[He frowns and thins his lips, disinterested in the problem D'Artagnan's statement has created for both of them. He thinks of a few names in particular - Robert and Max - but only stops to cross his right leg. He steeples his fingers in his lap and shakes his head.]

Really? And who would that be? It's not worth your time listening to idle gossip, you know. I've been quiet in this place. You know that more than anyone.

[mousquetaire]

[ D’Artagnan lifts his shoulders, returning Crane’s grimace with an innocent sort of smile. D’Artagnan isn’t all that capable of innocence, so this mostly comes off as sardonic. Look, he’s trying here. ]

I didn’t say you weren’t. But still, I know you talk to people. I’ve stepped in more than once when I thought you went too far.

[ Naruto. Max. And then he’d dismissed both Power Girl and Max, because the former had vandalised Crane’s house, and there had been no proof of the latter’s accusation. But still, it all builds on d’Artagnan. He doesn’t forget, and he certainly doesn’t trust Crane. ]

The point is, I don’t think anything could change for you unless you wanted it to. So, do you? What will you do, when you’re finally off parole?

b!

[thinhammer]

Aw, no fair-- [ Comes a downcast mumble before the audible folding of arms and a loud huff of a sigh. ] Ya could at least act surprised and lemme sneak up on you. I know you're good at fakin' stuff.

[ If only he knew how far that went, maybe it would stop him being so readily available for the other man. Maybe. Probably not, but maybe.

As it is, Naruto lets the momentum he's built up die and circles around his friend to reform the same stance with arms folded and expression almost a sulk.. before it breaks nto a smile like he'd been struggling to form the facade. ]

Ain't seen ya in person for a while, y'know! Thought maybe you'd shut yourself in or somethin'-- I was gonna come see ya soon, but fancy runnin' into ya, huh? [ Chance doesn't really come into it when Naruto is concerned. Luck of both kinds tends to find him without his input more often than not. That's when he looks up at the establishment Crane is loitering infront of, and frowns the frown of a confused foreigner. ] What's this? [ He asks, and it's unclear whether he doesn't know the word or literally can't read it. Or both. ]

[restingstitchface]

[Crane narrows his eyes, turns back towards the sign. It's a metal plaque screwed to the wall. Name. Profession. He licks his lips irately; the act is a distraction from his rising temperature. But then his eyes fall on the last word. Psychiatrist. Psychiatrist. His eye twitches.

It's right then he turns his back on the sign. It's one thing to show respect for a title earned. But in his opinion the person in that building doesn't deserve their title.]

Psychiatrist.

[His eyes fall on Naruto, studying him with a quiet, calm look. This young man likely doesn't understand... any of it.]

Head doctor. I've been told to attend here after I-

Well, that's the past. I'm looking to the future.

[thinhammer]

Sssyyyy-whaa? What's that for? You sick? [ He tilts his head, then gives Crane a once over. ] Ya don't look sick.

[ Naruto's understanding of required visits to the doctor include grievous bodily harm and serious chakra drainage - and Crane is standing easily upright and isn't sporting even the slightest splash of blood, so he's entirely non-nonplussed here. ]

[restingstitchface]

[He tilts his head, then his eyes sharpen. His cold gaze, already icy before, is now chilling. Naruto's great insight and years of study in medical matters is clearly welcome-

Then it's gone. He's back to looking like a recluse. Proper. Prim. Quiet. Soft. He's flicking his gaze around the street. Motor engines, footfalls and the smell of dirt and oil. The sounds are deafening, and as a car drives by he sniffs a little.]

Of course I'm not. [He replies softly.] But I was deemed a danger to society and sent here to receive treatment. Which belies the question: why are you here?

[thinhammer]

[ He doesn't answer that because haha who cares, he's more focused on that word. ] Treatment? [ He knows how society feels about Crane both second and first hand; he'd had plenty of people already trying to deter him from putting anymore effort into changing Crane's ideals for his safety and the safety of others, but he's as determined as ever. ] What kinda treatment are they gonna give ya for that, huh? Are they just gonna talk to you or somethin'? They're not gonna go pokin' around inside your head with some crazy future torture tools, are they?

[ Despite having had sessions himself, Naruto still can't quite wrap his head around the idea of structured mental care. Thanks, Konoha. ]

[restingstitchface]

[He quirks a brow. Is Naruto's home truly so backward?]

No, no. It's likely a combination of psycho-pharmacological medication and therapy.

[He knows how Naruto is with large, unfamiliar words. And if he can control him into giving a reaction and making him feel small, that's even better. But oh, Naruto. You're getting into the same level of special cinnamon roll that Harley occupies. You go, you!]

b

[acclimatized]

Shouldn't you be tethered to someone?

[ ah, what a shame. punching crane in the back of the head without him expecting it would have been satisfying. thank god he took a trip up to nonah today – john has some pent up aggression to release and seeing him outside the clinic is a surprising opportunity john is keen to take advantage of. ]

[restingstitchface]

[Crane doesn't say anything, doesn't move. It isn't important enough to spark recognition behind his eyes. He decides to give the silent treatment till the other man dares to speak. His eyes turn to the sky.]

As it happens, I find myself between handlers. [A sigh.] Pray tell, what do you want?

[acclimatized]

[ john looks annoyed how crane is walking around unchecked and crosses his arms over his chest, mulling sarcastically over his question. ]

I wouldn't mind winning the lottery. I could buy a new car, a new house, a couple of holidays. [ a beat passes and he wets his lips. ] Realistically though, I'd love to see you back behind bars. Scratch that actually, I'd like the Porter to put you back in the hole you came from.

[restingstitchface]

[Crane wets his lips and then clicks his tongue inside his cheek. There had been brilliant sights in Gotham that he had left behind. All those voices screaming in unison. He'd cut deep into Falcone's vocal cords, but it wasn't the same. He leans forward with a conspiratorial air.]

Yes, well, life doesn't always reward good people. Truth is, we rarely get what we desire.

[acclimatized]

I could've told you that ages ago.

[ john married a former assassin who shot him and his best friend. granted, the former was because of crane's fear toxin and john is still nursing a grudge about that. his fingers dance rapidly by his side. ]

But I've got something for you.

[restingstitchface]

[He clears his throat. Stares blankly. He knows John doesn't like him - his presence appears to be making him ill - and that's fine, because he's not a likeable person. He's curious about what he'll do. Better to get it over and done with. Swallow it down.]

Have you now?

Crane's home, Feb 14, your WHEN field isn't the boss of me!!!

[itistolaugh]

[ After this Harley races to the porter and over to Crane's place. She takes the time to compose herself before knocking on the door, casually leaning against the frame. Play it cool. Keep it casual.

It's not like she cares or anything. ]

Little pig, little pig, let me come in.

[restingstitchface]

[Crane lets her knock the door for a deliberately long time - all the while making her go without a response. He snaps his book shut before leaning forward to rest it on the table.

This child. He inhales deeply. Then he rises from his chair, plucking his glasses from the coffee table. They're unfolded and worn as he leaves the sitting room and closes the door behind him. He had known it likely she would come, but not when. That had been unpleasantly uncontrollable. Hearing her knock, knock, knocking at his front door, he strides over and hauls it open, looking as messy as he had the first day he'd come back.

Ugh. Visitors though. He raises an eyebrow as if saying "what do you want?"]

[itistolaugh]

[ She flicks his nose on her way inside. ]

Oh don't give me that look. You called me over. Now, let's get a good look at you. Do a little spin.

[restingstitchface]

[He doesn't contemplate being told what to do. Not anymore. He does, however, turn around and bolt the door once she's sauntered in. That's technically a spin, right? He turns around before she can comment about the state of his clothes, or his haircut, or anything else for that matter.

He waves her in the general direction of his sitting room, knowing she'd probably saunter elsewhere.]

Make yourself at home, Miss Quinzel.

[itistolaugh]

[ Harley stops only a few steps past him and looks him over with pursed lips and crossed arms. He's aged, settled comfortably into his skin, but the edges haven't dulled. Me oh my, Scarecrow, what yellow brick road did you go down? ]

Soooo! Gimme the deets!

[restingstitchface]

Well, who would you like to learn about first? Bane? Perhaps Joker?

[He strolls past her, noting her crossed arms and pressed lips, and goes into his sitting room. He seats himself properly on the couch, nesting himself if she follows.]

Or perhaps the lie that the Batman and Gordon built around Harvey Dent? And what happened after people found out the truth?