Repeat
Who: Dr. Joan Leland, Jon Crane
Where: Arkham Asylum
What: Therapy
Leland leaned against the outer gates of Arkham, glancing warily up at the sky. The temperature was warmer than it had been for several weeks, but the sky was a dark gray color, covered with clouds, and the wind smelled like rain. She hadn't thought to bring an umbrella out to meet Jon at the gates, and scowled a little. Banning Jon from Arkham was not a decision she regretted, but it did make actually bringing him into the building now more difficult, since she still didn't trust him. She wasn't sure she ever would.
The hissing rustle of trees made her glance back at the asylum, looming and shadowy on the hill where it sat. Leland had worked there for years now, and it was still an unsettling building. She wasn't superstitious, but if any building in the world were haunted, it was Arkham. That the place was even still standing after all of the explosions, breakouts, and riots that had rocked it was a testament to the building's refusal to crumble and die. Leland had a vague, half-formed thought about the undead before she told herself to stop being ridiculous and watch for Jon.
It was almost a relief to see him in the distance, making his way up to Arkham. It distracted her from morbid thoughts about Arkham, and a paranoid, jittery psychologist was the last thing anyone needed, let alone Jon. He walked to the gates, and Leland tilted her head a little. Jon held himself stiffly, lips pressed tight. His fingers twitched, his foot was tapping a staccato beat on the ground, but his face was expressionless. It reminded Leland too much of Crane, who'd kept his smug, calm facade up, even when he was nearly vibrating with nervous energy and plans.
"Everything all right, Jon?"
Where: Arkham Asylum
What: Therapy
Leland leaned against the outer gates of Arkham, glancing warily up at the sky. The temperature was warmer than it had been for several weeks, but the sky was a dark gray color, covered with clouds, and the wind smelled like rain. She hadn't thought to bring an umbrella out to meet Jon at the gates, and scowled a little. Banning Jon from Arkham was not a decision she regretted, but it did make actually bringing him into the building now more difficult, since she still didn't trust him. She wasn't sure she ever would.
The hissing rustle of trees made her glance back at the asylum, looming and shadowy on the hill where it sat. Leland had worked there for years now, and it was still an unsettling building. She wasn't superstitious, but if any building in the world were haunted, it was Arkham. That the place was even still standing after all of the explosions, breakouts, and riots that had rocked it was a testament to the building's refusal to crumble and die. Leland had a vague, half-formed thought about the undead before she told herself to stop being ridiculous and watch for Jon.
It was almost a relief to see him in the distance, making his way up to Arkham. It distracted her from morbid thoughts about Arkham, and a paranoid, jittery psychologist was the last thing anyone needed, let alone Jon. He walked to the gates, and Leland tilted her head a little. Jon held himself stiffly, lips pressed tight. His fingers twitched, his foot was tapping a staccato beat on the ground, but his face was expressionless. It reminded Leland too much of Crane, who'd kept his smug, calm facade up, even when he was nearly vibrating with nervous energy and plans.
"Everything all right, Jon?"