(no subject)
Character name: Jonathan Crane/"Scarecrow"
Series: DC Comics Universe
Age: Mid-thirties.
Job: Substance Abuse Counselor
Canon: Gotham City -- everyone's favorite wretched hive of scum and villainy. With its corpse-laden waters, maximum-security prisons, and iconic Dark Knight, Gotham is everyone's first choice of residence when they make the somewhat misguided decision to become a symbol of domestic terror.
Doctor Jonathan Crane takes the term "terrorist" somewhat more literally than the average person. Once a respectable psychiatrist, his fascination with the concept of fear drove him out of his teaching position at Gotham University. Unwilling to forfeit his obsession and embittered by his past, Crane turned to career villainy. Bad idea? Possibly, considering he's hardly the most athletic of creatures and his nemesis is the goddamn Batman. But there are few lengths to which Crane won't go to pursue his research. He'll kill, steal, you name it -- all in the name of science. Thoroughly defined by his intellectual pursuits, Crane is known throughout Gotham's seedy underbelly simply as the Scarecrow.
Costume-clad or not, Crane is always an eloquent intellectual with a weakness for theatrics. He's the type who finds a certain charm in lengthy discourses about his master plan. His brain is his biggest asset, and he knows it. He's haughty and dignified -- and above all else, he's just megalomaniacal enough to never call it quits. Not like getting beaten up by a six-foot-something guy dressed like a bat ever stopped any self-respecting villain in motherfucking Gotham City.
Sample Post:
"And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you."
... Nietzsche, ladies and gentlemen. I realize your literary inventory is composed of such savourless farces as If You Give A Toucan A Tibium and Goodnight Moon (Oh Sweet Jesus, It's Looking Right At Me), but you needn't look so obviously perplexed. Wide eyes are easy prey for parched, intrepid insects ... and, well. It wouldn't take a doctor to diagnose the dangers of letting mangled jowls hang low, wobble to and fro, and the like. Straighten up, would you? Bear yourself with dignity, for God's sake. Skulking ruins the posture -- if you must draw suspicion with your very stance, I would instead recommend lurking more.
Now, good listeners keep their traps shut and their ears open ... and clear of debris. You in the back -- don't think I can't see that abhorrent seepage. No wonder you beg and moan for gray matter; you're leaking it. Pay attention, please! I'm not overfond of repeating myself, and there are entirely too few intact ears to justify so many people. You're in a summer camp; surely by now sharing is one of the skills you've acquired over the months.
The name is Doctor Jonathan Crane, and I'm the new substance abuse counselor of this godforsaken locale. Yes, once again the world has seen fit to provide a new and exciting way to squander my talents. My specialty is fear, not addiction. I mean ... addiction? Take a good, long look at yourselves, my tepid audience -- your varying states of physical disrepair! The desires you may have known in life, reduced to a squashy, cerebral singularity after death! And ask yourself, with tongues so well-rotted they resemble frozen grocery meat: Is addiction really the worst of my problems? And in the sweltering Louisiana heat, with only the company of a few ephemeral friends to hold you in contempt for your vices, ask yourself: aren't drugs a little difficult to come by anyway?
The correct answers, in order, are "no" and "usually".
In a place where care and maintenance of the self is no longer an honest issue, sniffing cocaine becomes the equivalent of sniffing confectionery sugar. For boredom I instead would prescribe intellectual pursuits. Like Nietzsche, whom I quoted when all the words I found to describe this new horror proved inadequate ... Oh, no, you do me a disservice by assuming I regard this wretched place with fear and fear alone. Like I said, fear is my specialty. This camp, with its banal clichés and B-movie lunacy, simply bears some small resemblance to a world I might have imagined -- a world fraught with horror. Such a bastion of terror could only exist in the southeast. Sweet home Louisiana, eh? Where the skies rain down with rue ...
... I said -- rue, not ... goo. That's ... that's just vile.
voting post
Series: DC Comics Universe
Age: Mid-thirties.
Job: Substance Abuse Counselor
Canon: Gotham City -- everyone's favorite wretched hive of scum and villainy. With its corpse-laden waters, maximum-security prisons, and iconic Dark Knight, Gotham is everyone's first choice of residence when they make the somewhat misguided decision to become a symbol of domestic terror.
Doctor Jonathan Crane takes the term "terrorist" somewhat more literally than the average person. Once a respectable psychiatrist, his fascination with the concept of fear drove him out of his teaching position at Gotham University. Unwilling to forfeit his obsession and embittered by his past, Crane turned to career villainy. Bad idea? Possibly, considering he's hardly the most athletic of creatures and his nemesis is the goddamn Batman. But there are few lengths to which Crane won't go to pursue his research. He'll kill, steal, you name it -- all in the name of science. Thoroughly defined by his intellectual pursuits, Crane is known throughout Gotham's seedy underbelly simply as the Scarecrow.
Costume-clad or not, Crane is always an eloquent intellectual with a weakness for theatrics. He's the type who finds a certain charm in lengthy discourses about his master plan. His brain is his biggest asset, and he knows it. He's haughty and dignified -- and above all else, he's just megalomaniacal enough to never call it quits. Not like getting beaten up by a six-foot-something guy dressed like a bat ever stopped any self-respecting villain in motherfucking Gotham City.
Sample Post:
"And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you."
... Nietzsche, ladies and gentlemen. I realize your literary inventory is composed of such savourless farces as If You Give A Toucan A Tibium and Goodnight Moon (Oh Sweet Jesus, It's Looking Right At Me), but you needn't look so obviously perplexed. Wide eyes are easy prey for parched, intrepid insects ... and, well. It wouldn't take a doctor to diagnose the dangers of letting mangled jowls hang low, wobble to and fro, and the like. Straighten up, would you? Bear yourself with dignity, for God's sake. Skulking ruins the posture -- if you must draw suspicion with your very stance, I would instead recommend lurking more.
Now, good listeners keep their traps shut and their ears open ... and clear of debris. You in the back -- don't think I can't see that abhorrent seepage. No wonder you beg and moan for gray matter; you're leaking it. Pay attention, please! I'm not overfond of repeating myself, and there are entirely too few intact ears to justify so many people. You're in a summer camp; surely by now sharing is one of the skills you've acquired over the months.
The name is Doctor Jonathan Crane, and I'm the new substance abuse counselor of this godforsaken locale. Yes, once again the world has seen fit to provide a new and exciting way to squander my talents. My specialty is fear, not addiction. I mean ... addiction? Take a good, long look at yourselves, my tepid audience -- your varying states of physical disrepair! The desires you may have known in life, reduced to a squashy, cerebral singularity after death! And ask yourself, with tongues so well-rotted they resemble frozen grocery meat: Is addiction really the worst of my problems? And in the sweltering Louisiana heat, with only the company of a few ephemeral friends to hold you in contempt for your vices, ask yourself: aren't drugs a little difficult to come by anyway?
The correct answers, in order, are "no" and "usually".
In a place where care and maintenance of the self is no longer an honest issue, sniffing cocaine becomes the equivalent of sniffing confectionery sugar. For boredom I instead would prescribe intellectual pursuits. Like Nietzsche, whom I quoted when all the words I found to describe this new horror proved inadequate ... Oh, no, you do me a disservice by assuming I regard this wretched place with fear and fear alone. Like I said, fear is my specialty. This camp, with its banal clichés and B-movie lunacy, simply bears some small resemblance to a world I might have imagined -- a world fraught with horror. Such a bastion of terror could only exist in the southeast. Sweet home Louisiana, eh? Where the skies rain down with rue ...
... I said -- rue, not ... goo. That's ... that's just vile.
voting post