maskormenacelogs | I could fake my own death

[Will arrives ten minutes before seven wrapped up in dark colors: black slacks, gray coat, black scarf, black gloves. He could blend in with any funeral crowd. But, now, he's making his way up to Crane's old house in Nonah, shoes crunching a few leaves as he enjoys the fresh air. Probably. He isn't giving away and signs that he's enjoying anything. He doesn't look aggravated or sad, just...here. Embracing what needs doing and putting one foot in front of the other.

One of his coat pockets has something in it. Something small, and orange, and fluffy, something with big eyes that Crane might see peeking out. The kitten is abandoned and a little thin, but otherwise fine. Was abandoned, at least. Now he's along for the ride because it's better than being left in the cold.

If he has to knock, he does. If Crane's outside, Will just approaches. Either way, he doesn't speak. He makes himself readily known but leaves the first words to Crane.]

[Crane's eyes rise from the book he's reading. He wants to wait long enough to make Will bored and send him away. But intelligent as he is, he realizes he'll be rid of him a lot faster by hosting his company. It would be impolite to turn him away. It wouldn't be proper, Jonathan.

He answers the door dressed for work: missing glasses, wearing too much stubble. Old. His eyes drop to the small animal nestled in Will's clothing. He looks like he's swallowed something sour, but he wrinkles his nose and ignores it. He doesn't look interested, but he's not forcing Will to abandon it when he holds open the door.]

Why don't you come in from the cold? Both of you.

[Well, that's a good start, right? His sitting room is further inside, first door on the right at the end of the hall.]

Thank you.

[Always pays to be polite, those words leave Will without any hesitation. Big kitty eyes watch Crane for a few moments until turning around and burrowing in the warmth of a big pocket becomes too much to resist. Will goes where cued, where led if needed, and pays the environment only as much attention as needed. So cursory glances and nothing more. He isn't here to judge, unless Crane's got literal hostages or bodies or something Actually Sinister hanging around.]

How has your probation been in the past?

[Super casual.]

Well, it was remarkably hands-on.

[He puts little effort into speaking; enunciates properly and nothing more. His strength is being poured into giving an impression of himself as a safe, mentally sound guy. Or a calm one, at the least.]

Do you remember D'Artagnan? For a famous figure of literature he was quite ill-mannered. [Rude.] He developed a history of being proud of his own behavior, and he didn't particularily like being challenged.

I was stuck with him for months.

[Will looks up as Crane speaks, as if there is something of interest in the ceiling. His glancing around still never sticks in one spot for too long. Like a man who's just not comfortable standing idly by, or perhaps risking eye contact. He completes the basic looksie as Crane speaks. Only when he starts talking more about his past officer does Will turn to face him, eyebrow raising and lips twisting as though keeping a smile or laugh at bay.]

And he was stuck with you. [This isn't a one-sided relationship, after all. There has to be give and take on some level. Will's already done this before, has his own ideas in mind...and maybe, if he's lucky, the lack of hands being on will do them both a favor.] I'm not hands-on. Not unless I have a reason to be.

[Any trace of amusement has vanished.]

Do I have a reason to be?

Well, you have no reason to fear me.

[He hasn't been mocked, bullied, called names. The chances of losing respect - as somebody dangerous - was very, very low. There is a danger in taking one's eyes off somebody like him, after all. He wouldn't at all be unhappy to keep to his side of the playground if Will kept to his own.

He doesn't say anything more for a moment. Narrows his eyes, turns his head to the side - and scratches his chin like Will isn't there. The corners of his mouth draw down at the thought of having to groom himself. Such a waste of time.]

Do you?

[Those who have reasons to fear him? They've been foolish. If they don't fear him they're foolish too - because wow such disrespect. Sucks to be them.]

No.

[Blunt, factual, without any pretense behind it. There isn't a puffed out chest at the root of Will's no, a man who's not afraid of the Scarecrow because he's just such a badass. Nah. He's spent enough time with those of Different Minds where he doesn't feel an immediate threat from Crane, yes, but...that's not really a good thing.

He sweat through his chair once. That's a good thing. Might keep Crane from wanting to do more, or even a fun time with the mask, just the threat of Will's sweat being everywhere again.

But.

His fears are a little more mundane these days. Dying and not coming back. April finding someone better. Will being abandoned. More unique scenarios that come around on a poorer nights.]

I want to take you fishing. [He says after a stretch of silence, and then frowns a bit at the wording. No. That sounds like an invitation. And worse yet, can be turned into some freaky fishing fetish Will's been itching to scratch. Brr. So he fixes that.] We are going fishing.

[There. He isn't Dad Voice stern but that's less a "we could do this" and more "this is part of the dealio, yo." Crane does not have to groom himself at all.]

[Well, there's an offer he's been expecting. For an activity he never would have expected himself to try. He slides his hands to his knees, leaning forward in his chair. Looking eager and feeling stronger. He would have shrugged it off, one time. Found himself too vulnerable. Any situation with him knowing nothing and depending on others had been anathena.

Now?

His thoughts are more secure. Stuffed full of what others call ego but what he logically calls strength. He does not have to impose himself at all to get his own way. He tilts his head, and then clicks his tongue.]

All right. [He leans back. Fish are slippery wet. He appreciates that, and calmly fields a question.] Do you release your fish when done, Mr. Graham?

[Or does he keep them out of the water? The sensation the creatures feel. It must be torture.]

[Will does not sit, not yet, not wishing to look particularly...something...with a stray, abandoned kitten resting on his lap while he discusses much of anything with Crane. It's just not a good look, really.

Instead he leans against a wall and shrugs one shoulder. The one that won't upset burrowed felines. They're just guys chatting. Very casual. Very hands off.]

Depends on the type and weight. Some of them you can't keep. Some you don't want to. The ones I can keep, I usually do. [Usually. Sometimes he pulls out a fish with scars around the lip. A fish who has fought off others and come out victorious. Instead of feeling like top dog, he feels something else. He feels like this little bastard has fought hard and long to keep his place in the water, and deserves it. So he'll let that sucker go. Usually.] Ice fishing's a different ball game. Gotta change your tactics. I think you'll appreciate it.

[Because it's a mind game, more or less.]

I suppose I might.

[Because he enjoys mind games, more or less.

And it's a curious look he's giving while Will leans on his wall. Casual. Sometimes he understands the use of it. To diffuse tension and stop giving the impression you're the most important person in the room. He's not been raised to understand such luxury, and is far more comfortable with fretful formality. With the tense feeling of consequences for casual behavior.]

Would you like to sit down?

[It's not quite an invitation.]

[He hesitates for a moment. Then he nods, gently scooping the bitty creature from his pocket and taking a seat. The kitten shows mild displeasure at having been upset, but Will is quick to making a comfortable spot for it on his lap, removing his gloves so the contact isn't artificial. Big eyes watch Crane curiously until a few fingers to the back of little ears have them shutting, apparently a sucker for attention.

Two Dudes With Questionable Moralities And A Kitten, the newest sitcom.]

You know I don't have any authority over you. [A quiet, steady statement. An important one, too, one he feels needs to be addressed. This isn't a power thing. It just felt, well. It felt appropriate. It felt like there might be others doing it for the power thing, or something worse. They are going fishing, though, it is known.] This is a two way street. Ideally, we'll be communicative.

[Communication. No pressure to seek meaningful conversation. Silence. A moment for thought. He leans back against his chair, aloof and unyielding, acting like nothing means anything. Seeming like an older version of the animal Will's sheltering.]

Communicative? But I thought fishing demanded radio silence?

[FISHING JOKES. They're bonding already.]

[Will smiles at that, a frail thing but there nonetheless. Good ol' Crane.]

You're thinking of golf. [Extreme bonding, definitely.] You wouldn't wanna be too loud, but talking isn't going to disrupt the whole thing. Especially ice fishing. There's a layer of insulation to help drown out the noise.

[Haha, drown. They're both hilarious.]

[He smiles at that, too. It isn't a pleasant thing. Arkham had been full of noise when everyone had seen him for who he was. Till then, that throat-tearing screaming had been drowned out by layers of thick stone and padding. What a lovely basement he'd found.]

Is there? [Mmh.] That seems needlessly pleasant considering fish start suffocating when lifted out of water.

[So practically efficiant, Crane.]

[That's what basements exist for, it is known.]

Plenty of creatures start suffocating when put under water. Doesn't stop fish from going about their business. [The world is brutal, it is also known.] There are ways to prevent fish suffering like that, if you'd prefer.

[But he doubts it. He really, really doubts Crane cares about ~ethical~ fishing.]

[That is Will's observation. Crane just leans back against his chair and gestures invitingly.]

Tell me, if you like.

[He loves spooking people. He really, really loves doing it in ways they don't expect. That he doesn't care about ethical fishing doesn't matter. He can listen.]

You can bludgeon it as soon as it comes out of the water. Or you could chop off the head. That's about it.

[Said ever-so-calmly while that tiny baby cat nestles underneath his hand. It's okay though. Kittens don't have gills. The mammals are safe.]

That sounds painful. Efficient. But not many understand that it's necessary to prevent suffering by acting cruel, at first glance.

[He says, looking at Will ever-so-calmly, turning his hands in his lap. His experiments, days when he'd lifted someone's mind out of muddy water, had been meticiously planned. Unethical by their terms. Necessary by his own.]

[Will looks down at the kitten beneath his hand, eyes wandering to the tip of Crane's shoe, voice low and somewhat amused when he adds on...]

Similar to cauterizing a wound. Only the wound in this case is life itself.

Some people cannot handle an independent life. It seems simple, as an explanation, but there are outlying factors involved. The people who choose to involve themselves in our days, for one.

[Hannibal. Batman. Bane. He murmurs softly and eyes Will's amusement. Oh, and he is coping fine with life, thanks!]

You find this amusing. Why?

[Independent life, hah. Will scratches the kitten's ears. It's falling asleep quickly. Probably helps it can't understand what's being said.

At Crane's question, he leans back and lifts a hand to his face, fingers idly placed at his mouth. A thoughtful gesture. Something to stall for time as he tries to come up with the best way to phrase this. The politest way.]

I hadn't...ever really thought of it going this way. [Kinda vague, he reckons, takes a moment to clear his throat.] Between you and I.

[From coworkers to...whatever had happened in Crane's office, whatever that would be termed. To the lull, now this? It was an odd circle. And oddly enough, Will didn't find he minded that. Not where they were now, anyway. This has been civil. Almost too civil. A little unsettling, but in a comfortable way.]

Fond memories?

[Not of him. Not for the first experience that informed Will's behavior thereafter. But his tone is soft and calm. The politest it's been. The fact Will is minding his own is helpful in receiving good behavior in return. He folds his hands in his lap, his head idly tilting to the right. Curious. Birdlike.]

Or does this remind you of uncomfortably familiar ones, hmm?

[Did Hannibal ever give you this odd cyclical feeling, Mr. Graham? Perhaps the frightening this is that he's learning to win by playing the game. The devil's greatest trick isn't to dominate you; it's to convince you he doesn't exist.]

[Cyclical is right—but isn't that the beauty of it? Just as things start to feel normal—or God forbid, stale—there's a change. Slight, subtle, the curve a slow thing instead of sharp. Where some see danger, there is also beauty. Humanity is enamored with apex predators in the animal kingdom for that as much as anything else. Look at this wild cat, so powerful and majestic, also capable of ripping muscle from bone! Oooh, aaah.

Will offers a sad excuse for a smile. Maybe Crane can take that as an agreement to the fond memories part. He had fond memories others could share in, yes. But so many were that same sort of conflict as with a wild cat—wonderful to behold, and yet so horrifying. Creatures and memories that invoked awe.]

We've never been quite that intimate, Doctor. [He's felt a range of emotions in Crane's direction to be sure. But he's never gotten to that beautiful, horrible boiling point where he wanted to tear the man apart with his bare hands. That passion had always been reserved by another doctor of the mind. A doctor of Will's mind in particular, it had ended up being.] Better for both of us if we aren't. We can have a fine working relationship without crossing into uncomfortably familiar territory.

[He isn't challenging Crane here; he really does mean to settle. Once and for all. Retire and enjoy whatever afterlife he's given here. He sure isn't going to a better one back home, if they do exist.]

[Fond memories. Others wouldn't call his memories fond. By their standards they were horrifying. He feels no fondness for them but he appreciates their contribution to his personality. Look at how much Hannibal made Will the man he is today. As much as the other doctor had done, his Granny had done the same. The difference being Crane had torn her apart with his bare hands, figuratively speaking.

Except he cannot settle. Others say he's been scared out of his mind. But he's still passionate and dangerous, much as he's ever been. He crosses his right leg and rests one hand on his knee.]

Bruce Wayne is attempting to convince me to develop my work as a form of therapy. Did you know?

[Doing something good. Isn't this nice and relaxing? A good environment for retirement. Also means Will can volunteer for trials much as he likes. They've never been that intimate but they can be! In a different way. No cheating here.]

Bruce Wayne?

[He asks with that unmistakable lilt indicating a question where there wouldn't otherwise be one. He knows the name. Somewhat. It's been around and then it hasn't been around, and Will's never really had reason to associate Bruce Wayne with much of anything. Perhaps a hilarious way to say that name, if Crane compares it with how he'd have heard the name back home (in the same way anyone saying "Hannibal Lecter?" might invoke such a thought in Will), but Will can't help he isn't from where others are from. He doesn't know their worlds as they do, just as they do not know his world as he does.

So he asks. Two words, one name, why does it matter? Why does this Bruce Wayne matter to Crane enough to mention, why should his attempts matter, why should Will care enough that knowing matters?]

Gotham's favorite heir. Bruce Wayne exhibits a penchant for fast cars and women. He collects literature without an appreciation for the art, and inherited his estate without needing to struggle and work.

[He wrinkles his nose.]

You know his type. They fly around town, causing thousands worth or property damage.

[He smiles at that. There's no love lost here. Then there's a love for studying the chaos of it all. Will can't help not knowing where he's from, thankfully. Gotham has it's own special brand of crazy.]

Edited 2016-12-10 23:28 (UTC)

[Fly around town, sure. Causing thousands in property damage? Hm. That's an odd thing to include. Either he's the horrible sort who destroys hotel rooms or there's something more to that. Something secret. Something Will is perhaps meant to ask after, that smile on Crane's face taken into account. Something he isn't supposed to know and, possibly, if he does ask after won't even find out.]

You'd let his type influence you?

[He goes with that instead; not a true jab, but another path away from what might be expected. Crane describes a lazy, spoon-fed, altogether too common sort of person. Why would he care about what some rich brat has to say regarding his work?]

Oh heavens no. I'd let his type's example influence others.

[To make an example of. To punish. To impose a tough sentence. He had made examples of the modern aristocracy: judges, lawyers, CEOs and stockbrokers. Batman had cleaned up the mob, Gotham's criminal aristocracy, who had been little good for anything. He doesn't know what Bruce makes of his latest work; had never encountered him again. It's something he wants to know.]

Edited 2016-12-14 22:10 (UTC)

[Jeez. This is a Gotham thing, huh. Like how business between Hannibal and Will would be a Baltimore thing. If anyone wanted to interrupt a Baltimore thing, the only way to do so would be taking both Hannibal and Will out of the picture. Could be the same here. Could be a shitton of effort for headaches that are not his to carry.]

I see.

[Will's good with guards, with walls, and now he erects on that's just about physical. He holds a firm distance on this issue. On this Bruce Wayne. He holds no curiosity, no desire to know more or butt in, nothing but indulgence on the topic. And he'll keep that stance until he absolutely cannot. He'd prefer it never come to that, of course, something dire would have to happen, but for now? He isn't going to delve or dip into it and his short response, his body language, gives that much away. He's oozing it like a pheromone almost.

He won't care until he has to, but Crane is free to keep talking.]

[He's talked enough, honestly.

Indulged himself on his favorite topic. Enspoused his fascination onto someone who'll keep a lid on the issue. No curiosity, no desire to learn? This man's the perfect audience. Might need to call him again, sometime.]

I suppose you'll call to arrange a date, then?

[For fishing. A nice topic to end on, that. It's his way of being polite and saying goodbye.]

[Calling him is fine, but there won't be another office date. It remains a one time thing. A one night stand, even.

Will nods, getting up as he holds the kitten close to his chest. A date for fishing. A date and time for when he expects Crane to check in—daily at first is probably best, hands off going from there.]

I will. Soon. [Within a few days. Best to give Crane some space while showing he means what he says. Those can go hand in hand!] I can show myself out.

[Unless Crane doesn't want him to; Will won't fight on the issue. He nods, though.]

Have a good day.

I could fake my own death

CRANE;

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject