Who: Scarecrow and Barbara Gordon What: Fun with inhalants Where: Storage Unit in Arkham Asylum When: Friday, April 10, late night Rating: PG-13 for language
With the lights in the makeshift holding cell still off, Crane slipped inside and deposited his briefcase on the table. Having not checked on his 'patient' since early that morning, he had no idea what her present condition was, so it was far safer to fumble into his mask in the dark than switch the light on and risk her seeing his face.
When he'd finally secured the noose around his neck to his own satisfaction, he reached out to grope along the wall for the light switch. The burst of light, normally woefully dim, left him momentarily blinded after being in pitch darkness. He sighed, and squinted at the figure on the table.
"Miss Gordon..."
Barbara was drenched in a cold sweat, having just rode through another wave of horrible memories. Everything had been so real. The endless waiting, the sweat and damp smell of an old wearhouse that was molding with age. Cigarette smoke was blown in her face until her eyes burned. Why wasn't anyone coming for her?
She took deep breaths. It wasn't real. It may have been real once, but not now. What was real was that this asshole was performing horrible, demented experiments on her, and she needed to get herself out of this situation.
She wondered if anyone was even looking for her.
He crossed the small room to the table and peered down at her, expression thoughtful behind his mask. She looked too...composed, even if she was terrified. Not good, not good. They weren't paying him to have her leave here still capable of coherent thoughts.
"I see you've had a rough day, Miss Gordon; coming to terms with traumatic memories can be so...draining, don't you think?" He reached out to brush some of the damp hair out of her face. Chuckle.
Barbara shuddered, recoiling as much as she could from his touch. "Stay away from me you sick fuck."
He laughed again, and patted her cheek. "Now, now, that's no way for someone in your position to be talking." Especially because it just proved his theory that there was still a long way to go with her. "It's no wonder you're in this position, Miss Gordon, with a mouth like that..."
He moved away from her, back to the table where he settled himself on the rickety stool there and started mixing the contents of several small glass bottles.
Upon hearing the clinking of glass, Barbara started to cry. Fat, angry tears rolled down her face. The worst was yet to come, wasn't it? If she could get herself out of the restraints, she'd have a better chance of freeing herself completely. As it was, she'd already rubbed her wrists till they were raw.
For several long minutes he was silent as he worked, mixing the drugs almost randomly. He decided not to comment on her crying, and instead was content to just enjoy it.
The sound of shattering glass broke the relative silence, and he cursed under his breath. "I told you to keep quiet, doctor, stop being such a nuisance..."
Pause.
Hiss. "Yes, well if it was up to you we'd still be skulking about in dark corners lamenting our bad luck; you should be *thanking* me for this oppertunity." Such a paranoid little bastard, that Dr. Crane...
The noise had the girl's interest. Barbara shook her face, trying to get the tears out of her eyes. She glanced down, past her feet, at the doctor. "Wh-who are you talking to?"
"None of your business, girl. Go back to crying; it's a much better use of your time." He stood stiffly, kicking bits of glass under the table, and shrugged out of his jacket. Out of his briefcase, he pulled a small, rather odd looking contraption, which he carefully filled with the concoction he'd just made.
He and the doctor had argued endlessly over the device, bickering over size and placement and every reason there could possibly be for why it didn't disperse anything as was intended, but after a week of tinkering and loss of sleep, they had finally sorted it all out. Of course, then the arguments about the contents had started; Crane had protested that more research had to be done, while the Scarecrow insisted that the best research was 'clinical testing'.
It was, really, no surprise that the Scarecrow had won that little debate.
"What the fuck is that?" Barbara asked, her fear clear in her voice. She made another futile attempt against the restraints, opening up new cuts on her arms. "When are you going to be done doing this to me?"
"This? Just a little...invention of mine; thank you for being here to test it for me." He reached for his jacket, pulling it back on as he strode over to the table once again. "When will I be done, Miss Gordon?" Cackle. "When you aren't able to ask me any more questions, that's when."
"So...this isn't going to stop until I'm dead then?" Barbara asked, sounding sullen. That voice was put on for show. She would not let this freak kill her. He laughed again, leaning over her. "Oh, no, Miss Gordon, that's the last thing I'd want to do. You're of no use to anyone if you're dead." In fact, if she died, he wouldn't be getting his money, and he'd probably be joining her in the afterlife himself...
"...then what are we doing here? I mean...if you're not going to kill me what is the goal?" She was almost afraid to hear the answer.
"To further my research; it's...a mutually beneficial goal for my colleages and I." Behind the burlap, he frowned. Too many questions. "Now, if you're done being an obnoxious brat, we'll continue with the tests..."
"Oh I'll never be done with that, Doctor," she sneered, glaring up at the holes in his mask. She could see a bit of the rope he'd used to tie on his mask, and she caught this in her fingers, twirling it around her hand until she could yank it hard and tight.
Scarecrow let out a strangled yelp, caught completely off guard, and fell foward across Barbara. For the briefest moment he panicked, trying to pry her hand off the rope, but suddenly stopped and seemed to relax. What was the point of struggling when he could just...
Spray her in the face.
The reaction was near instant this time. Barbara felt her anxiety level shoot up to new heights in just a few moments, and she thought she was going to die. She was sure that her heart was going to explode, and what the hell kind of monster was on top of her. It didn't even seem human.
She started to scream, to wail and cry, thrashing to get it off of her.
As he watched her flail from his spot on the floor, the Scarecrow considered that, possibly, that hadn't been the most intelligent solution he'd ever come up with, but it had worked spectaularly well. While it had taken her several minutes to reach the peak of her anxiety before, the spray caused that reaction almost instantly. Grin.
"I told you this would work. Really, Doctor, you need to learn to stop doubting me. It does neither of us any good at all."
This fear was something new to Barbara. It went beyond her memories. It was terror like she had never experienced before, and her body reacted accordingly. She struggled against the restraints, unaware of the pain that the old leather buckles should have caused her. The pain didn't matter, nor did the blood. She needed to escape, or she would die.
Chuckle. He pushed himself up, dusted himself off, and turned to clean his things up off the table. The bottles were wrapped in soft cloth and then, along with the device on his wrist, were tucked inside his briefcase. Once they were safely put a way, he sat again, jotting notes as the minutes ticked by and her screams grew more frantic.
When he was satisfied that she had reached the height of her fear, for the moment, he packed away his notes, picked up his briefcase, and moved over to the table again. This, he decided was probably not the best idea either, but she'd certainly be easier to control now...in theory. Besides, he was curious what a person would do if they weren't strapped down in this state.
Barbara's screams had dissolved into woeful moans no less driven by fear. Her head lolled as much as it could, and her skin was drenched in cold sweat. She shivered, pressing her eyes hard shut as she saw the monstrous scarecrow approach her. He undid the restraints as quickly as possible. There. Hopefully she'd be an easy target to kick out of the way tomorrow if she happened to cause a problem.
And...one last thing before leaving. "Boo!"
Barbara shrieked loudly, pushing herself from off the table. She curled her body up into a tight ball, hudding between a box and a corner of the walls.
Heh heh. "Have a wonderful evening, Miss Gordon," he said as he flicked off the light and closed the door. The mask as pulled off as soon as it was shut, and he fumbled with locking the door and stuffing the mask into his case at the same time before he hurried down the hall to the elevator. Ugh.