(no subject)
The previous tenant had kept cats, many of them. It made for a useful excuse when they moved in and set up the meth lab. The neighbors were used to the smell. Sometimes the cats come back, but Jonathan doesn't mind as long as they stayed out of the lab area. In fact, there's a lot he doesn't mind as long as others stay away from the equipment: all the late night customers, the constant demand for more and better drugs, his own restlessness and the need to get back to his research, to contact the League, somehow. To get back to Scarecrow. All bearable, for now.
These days, he wears his hair much shorter, eats little, and watches an inane amount of television. It makes for a certain unnerving gauntness, the way the shape of his skull is obvious, and how he watches people with wide, pupil-swallowed eyes. None of it is intentional, but it's just as well. He can't be Jonathan Crane right now, so he should really stop laughing whenever news about the Batman comes on. Tonight he did this. These deeds are attributed to him. He was sighted here, here, and here. Everyone wants to know what everyone else thinks of this ongoing vigilantism. It's too much. He finds himself sniggering at eye witness reports and blurry photographs. He's the only person in this city who knows -- knows what a sham it all is.
Well, maybe not the only one. But he has no interest in going back to Arkham for a chat with the man who turned the city upside down. All he wants, for now, is a little security. Would it be too much to ask that people keep out of his little emergency rations of fear toxin? He doesn't think so. And now he has a shivering, drooling man on the floor of his lab who needs to be disposed of.
... the cats are awfully hungry ...
These days, he wears his hair much shorter, eats little, and watches an inane amount of television. It makes for a certain unnerving gauntness, the way the shape of his skull is obvious, and how he watches people with wide, pupil-swallowed eyes. None of it is intentional, but it's just as well. He can't be Jonathan Crane right now, so he should really stop laughing whenever news about the Batman comes on. Tonight he did this. These deeds are attributed to him. He was sighted here, here, and here. Everyone wants to know what everyone else thinks of this ongoing vigilantism. It's too much. He finds himself sniggering at eye witness reports and blurry photographs. He's the only person in this city who knows -- knows what a sham it all is.
Well, maybe not the only one. But he has no interest in going back to Arkham for a chat with the man who turned the city upside down. All he wants, for now, is a little security. Would it be too much to ask that people keep out of his little emergency rations of fear toxin? He doesn't think so. And now he has a shivering, drooling man on the floor of his lab who needs to be disposed of.
... the cats are awfully hungry ...