Who: Jonathan Crane and Merope Gaunt When: Friday Afternoon, 4 PM Where: Bar, Lower Gotham Why: Dr. Crane's curiosity is piqued. Merope found a new/old acquaintance Rating: PG 13 Status: Complete; threaded
Jonathan was rather curious about the girl that had contacted him, having claimed to have met him before. A different him, at that. It seemed odd at first, and that which was odd was of peculiar interest to the doctor. Especially if it was of a possible neurological disorder that had been the cause. The fact that she had set the place for their meeting as none other than the bar owned and operated by the old crime lord Falcone had only piqued his interest further.
In most cases as this, the subject would prefer either neutral territory or someplace more familiar to them. With this counting as his home turf, well, there was much not to resist in discovering about her. He knew from their brief conversation that she was quite disturbed, and this not only proved that fact, but made it even more so. She was proving to be quite interesting so far, and he wanted to see just how interesting she could be. Someone with a fractured pathological makeup as hers could probe to be a most interesting study. And a most interesting subject.
The car pulled in front of his destination a full 15 minutes ahead of schedule, just as he had intended. Nothing like giving over the playing field first to make certain conditions were right. Falcone's men, his men now, were at their usual positions, keeping lookout. Those inside were likely already in position as well. Yes, there should be no problem in securing the girl. But outright taking her wouldn't work. No, he wanted to meet with her, discover more about her. Only then would he see about breaking her.
Stepping from the car, he smoothed out the jacket, making certain the tie was crisply pressed and straight, and adjusted his glasses. Nearly unaware of the movement, his feet carried him up the familiar steps and to the door, which was held open for him. A quick glance around showed few afternoon frequenters about, and he made his way to the closed, circular table in the back, settling himself upon the plush upholstery. A bit tacky and overdone, some vain attempt at adding class and culture to the place. A waste, given the nature of those that often frequented the place. Clasping his hands together, fingers interlaced, he rested his arms on the table, looking to the door as he waited.