Who: Jonathan Crane Where: An abandoned warehouse When: April 22nd, evening Summary: Performance reviews are in, and Dr. Crane's isn't looking too good.
Carefully, Jonathan pushed the warehouse's side door closed, and made a mental note to bring along something for the hinges next time. He didn't think he'd been followed, wasn't worried that he might have been, but there really was no telling what was lurking around the area, and the last thing he needed was to be interrupted by someone who'd heard the screech of rusty hardware.
He crossed the deserted floor quietly, and let himself into the small room that had, most likely, been used as an office. There was a pile of debris in one corner, which he shifted aside to reveal a small crate; he'd have to empty it tonight, and find someplace else to work out of for a few weeks. Just to be safe.
The crate, once free of the trash pile, was deposited on a rickety table and pried open. That finished, he pulled the mask off and set it aside as he removed his supplies; it glared at him.
What is it you're afraid of, doctor?
Jonathan sighed and glanced away from where he was mixing a pair of chemicals to eye the mask. "Isn't that a rather ridiculous question to be asking?" After all, the two of them shared the same head; Scarecrow had to already be aware of everything Jonathan didn't want him to know.
It's so much more fun to make you say it. the voice went on, adding a little extra rasp to the end for effect. You disappoint me. This place has so much potential, and yet you creep through back alleys as if they were the halls of that pathetic school.
"Boredom is not a good enough reason for doing anything foolish," Crane muttered, filling a few vials. "Besides, there's plenty of time to work our way up to something more entertaining; you have no patience."
You have no ambition. You're a quivering, pathetic little man, peeking out from behind corners and agonizing over the worst possible outcomes. Do you want to be trampled over for the rest of your life?
Crane glared at the mask, scowled at it, and then turned his back on the offended scrap. "Do we really need to do this right now? I'm busy." It was becoming more and more frequent lately, the inescapable harassment from inside his own mind. Something would have to be done about it soon.
It's just one man, doctor, dressed up as a bat, and what with the news these days, it's obvious he's far too busy to notice you. Is that what frightens you? I've told you how we can deal with that; why so resistant, doctor? Don't you...trust me?
He finished filling the vial in his hand, set it down carefully, and then slammed the lid of the crate down onto Scarecrow's face. Really, he didn't have time for this. He wasn't afraid, he was just being cautious. Though, to be fair, now was probably the best time to start branching out; nothing extravagant, mind, but something a bit more ambitious than one lonely, lost pedestrian at a time.