Characters:
notexcalibur,
ornithophobia,
ih8spiders ,
alphaspider... Also
stalwartcane and
only7percent . And now with Action
seizeyoursouls.
Location: Commercial District
Rating: PG-13ish.
Time: August 10th. Late afternoon, nearing 5pm.
Description: England's turn to take his medicine -- and a certain person happens onto the scene afterwards. Our villain finds this a serendipitous turn of events, but... In the immortal words of
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At 4:44 on the dot, England left Death by Pastry to check in with the current shift. He had been doing this daily, for every patrol shift, taking notes on what the groups had seen and just to make sure they were in the correct spots. Sometimes he brought snacks to the volunteers to help keep their spirits up. No one had seen Crane, no one had reported any strange activity. England hoped that today would be different. If they could just gather some clues, one clue, they may be able to ( ... )
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Scarecrow might have taken heed of that mantra as well. Was it too much to hope for the apparent head of the patrol effort to be out and about, alone? Did he not practice what he preached? Normally, he might have looked this one gift horse in the mouth, approached with caution at least, but he realised that it was simply more likely that -- like nearly everyone else in this city -- England just suffered from arrogance ( ... )
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In one fluid movement, England turned around to face Scarecrow, grabbed the PDA from his pocket, and calmly pressed the SOS button. He did not want to give off the impression that he was nervous, but also didn't want to seem too threatening (which he was sure he didn't, not to a man with a burlap sack covering his head). He was half-hoping that he'd be able to keep Scarecrow in the area long enough for more people to get there. If that meant he had to be a decoy, then that was alright.
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"Not the wisest of moves," he said, bland. "But that seems to have your general trend, as of late." What else could he call forcing his hand early? They might've had a nice chat -- what information he had on the toxin and its application, relevant fears, traumas, neuroses that might have explained believing himself a country -- but there didn't seem to be much chance of that now.
Well, another opportunity wasted. It was a shame, but he'd do what had to be done... Which in this case was a sudden movement -- his arm swept forward and a cloud of powdery white poison erupted from the sleeve, but it was a little too late that he realised that he might have kept too much distance between them for the toxin to do its work...
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"I don't want to fight you, Crane," he finally said, expression hardening. All he had to do was keep Scarecrow within his sight. They didn't have to be close. "But you should know that all of Death City is after you. You must be tired of running and hiding!"
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He wouldn't let it get to that point. No more words; he deigned not to answer the taunt, no, he was above those. With a deep long-suffering breath (as in how dare England make it difficult for him?) he began to close the space between them. Long, steady steps, inexorable. By all accounts -- his slight frame, somewhat ragged look, and of course the absurd mask -- the overall effect should have been ridiculous, but...
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"You're talking about a... Reduced sentence, I take it?" He managed a laugh there, aimed at the very thought. Suddenly he seemed infinitely tired, as if this was more an ordeal for him than it was for everyone else involved.
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"You're absolutely right. It's inevitable now, isn't it?" A long exhale, then somewhat ruefully, "Looks like I've lost the element of surprise."
He was starting to sound more like the Jonathan Crane that people knew before this whole mess. Reasonable. "Very well, then. You say it'll be better for me, and-- I'll have to agree." Palms up again. "What now?"
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