Something In Common Part One
Author: jsherlock
Rating: PG
Title: Untitled
Part: 1/?
Warnings: None for now.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything that belongs to DC and Time Warner/AOL.
Summary: Six years later Crane is released and gets a new job.
How far the mighty have fallen, the young man thought as he watched the city flash by through the train window.
Who said you were ever mighty?
He hushed the pointed comment. Another job to have gotten fired from. I’m not going to make rent this month. I need to eat something today. He opened a notebook and pulled a pen from his breast pocket. He opened the notebook, and crossed out the company’s name. It was the last on a very long list.
Now what? Unless I flip burgers or whore myself out - I won’t have an income. Unless I take to the streets and beg. He closed the notebook and replaced the pen. Those were uncomfortable thoughts. He wriggled in his seat and loosened his tie. He looked out the window again.
The mid-morning sun was bright against the dark stone of the skyscrapers. It was an odd congruency and he looked around the car. The morning rush was over, and there were only a few business men and women running late, too into their cell phone conversations to notice the gangly man in an ill-fitting suit.
Damn that Mrs. Evans and her belief I was ready to be kicked out into this cruel world again after 6 years at Arkham. At least there I was assured a bed and food 3 times a day.
At least her rehabilitation program worked better than yours.
Not really, if I still talk to myself.
He shook his head. Where can I go now? I need to contact Mrs. Evans now. To tell her I’ve been fired from yet another job because of my oh-so-illustrious past as Scarecrow.
Dr. Jonathan Crane got off at the next stop and traipsed down three blocks to the Arkham Asylum, which had been fixed up with the latest technology that Gotham’s elite could buy to keep the crazies in.
He let himself into the pale gold lobby, which had a desk and a secretary these days. The woman looked up, bored.
“Hello Mr. Crane.”
“Doctor, Miss Dennis. I still have a P.h. D., even if my license to practice was revoked.”
“Yes, doctor Crane.” There was an ungrateful ring to her voice, tinny and high-pitched in the silence of the lobby.
“It would help the inmates here if you wouldn’t antagonize them unnecessarily.” He replied evenly.
“Ah, Dr. Crane. A pleasure to see you again.” Mrs. Anita Evans said, coming out of her office at a trot. He smoothly turned to face the older, podgy woman.
“Mrs. Evans. I’m afraid I have bad news.” Jonathan said as he was ushered into her office, tastefully decorated in creams and ivories and soothing greens. She closed the door on her secretary.
“Fired again?” She walked around her well-appointed desk, trailing a faint trace of some perfume. Dr. Crane wrinkled his nose at the reek.
“Got it in one.” He sat down in an over-stuffed chair, balancing the notebook on his knees. Anita looked at it pointedly. With an inward sigh, he handed it over. He waited patiently until she had read it cover to cover.
“That is an impressive list, Dr. Crane.”
“Quite. I’m not sure what exactly my next step should be, since my avenues for employment are somewhat limited, and I doubt a fast-food joint would actually take me.”
“No, I’d imagine they wouldn’t.” She opened the notebook to a doodle of a scarecrow tied to a pole surrounded by gnawing birds. “And what does this mean to you?”
“I am the scarecrow, and the crows are…I suppose my jobs and the people who have been rude to me - from random strangers to the people who have exposed my past to our supervisors; my landlord, and that crow being stabbed is most definitely is Miss Dennis.”
He raised an eyebrow in response to her inquiring look. “She is a constant thorn every time I come. You really need to have a chat to her about being nice to the crazy people. But all in all, the picture is a reflection of the hopelessness I feel returning to the world of the living.”
“Let’s break that down, shall we?” Anita handed the notebook back and pulled out her own notepad and a pen.
Let’s do.
“I’m also talking to myself.”
“How so?”
“I make snarky comments and telling myself that I am a failure. It sounds like the Scarecrow.”
“Interesting.” She sounded genuinely interested. He was the test subject, the only one they had relseased into the world again. If all went well, they’d try to re-introduce those who seemed to really be healed.
He removed his glasses. “I just said, ‘let’s do’ in response to your ‘let’s break that down’ comment.”
Anita jotted the note down and smiled. “That could be your humour coming to the fore, and not necessarily a darker reflection. And last time I checked, we all are our harshest critics. But I thank you for telling me.”
“The point is, I have no idea what to do. Rent is due today, and I have no money for food or rent next month. I found myself contemplating hustling my body or begging.” He looked around at what used to be his office. “It…” he chose his words carefully, “would be comforting to be secure in the knowledge that I have a clean bed, good meals three times a day, good healthcare and a roof over my head.”
Anita gave him a look. “So, you want to come back here, then?”
He gave her an amused grin, looking at her over his glasses. “In a sense, yes. At least my life is routine and secure. But then…I missed the feel of opening my front door and leaving, knowing I could come back.”
“All in all, you’re not doing well, is that it?” Anita prodded gently.
“I am living in a slum, with no job, and eating one meal a day. I’d say I was doing very badly.”
Anita steepled her fingers and looked at Dr. Crane over her fashionably oval glasses. He favoured rectangular ones.
“Well…that is not doing well at all. How about I place you in a guaranteed job for a while?”
“Guaranteed how, and what would the job I’d be doing?” He countered.
“Guaranteed to keep it, because the employer will know of your past and cannot fire you for it, and has to sign lots of papers that says they will have to treat you as they would any trustworthy employee, for a good pay rate.”
Anita leant forward over her desk. “You would be able to leave employment at any time, no reasons to be given. It would be a trial run of an idea I’ve been looking into, just in case you couldn’t find a suitable job on your own. You’d be a personal assistant.”
“Personal assistant? Like keeping a schedule, and appointments straight, and getting coffee, shopping, and picking up dry cleaning? Who of the rich and stupid did you bully into buying into your little scheme?”
Anita laughed good-naturedly. “I didn’t bully anybody, Dr. Crane! Well. Not much. But nobody bit, except Gotham’s very own princeling.”
“You’re kidding. Bruce Wayne himself?” Dr. Crane settled deeper into the cushions, removing his glasses. “I just can’t figure what on earth…but of course. His dearly departed parents tried to set the example of helping the less fortunate, and just maybe he’ll pave the way for you to place the rest of us?”
“In the long run, that would be optimal. I’m not putting any eggs in any basket just yet. I’m still not sure you’re going to make it through, since your track record for the last 6 months indicates it will be very difficult to reintegrate my patients back into the world.”
“Such a vote of confidence, Mrs. Evans.” He smiled faintly, and tapped his glasses on the arm rest.
“Just because you cannot hold a job because someone lets it leak that you were the Scarecrow, does not mean you’re failing. Unless it’s you who leaks that information?” Her eyebrows rose.
Dr. Crane held back a derisive snort. “Absolutely not.” He put his glasses on and shook his head.
“Well, then. Mr. Wayne needs you as soon as possible.”
“That sounds…urgent. You can tell him I’ll be there Monday morning, dressed and pressed.”
“I’ll do that.” Anita nodded. She watched Dr. Crane get up.
He hefted the notebook as though testing its weight. “Do you think you could front me some money so I could buy a suitable set of suits?” He asked finally. He tugged at the old tie and looked at the two-piece he was wearing that was a size and a half too big.
“I’ll see what I can do. This is a state-run institution and I don’t get paid -”
“Yes, I recall that aspect well. I’m sure Mr. Wayne would be willing to help his future employee not to reflect badly on him.”
“I’ll see what I can do, Dr. Crane.” Anita said.
“Thank you.” Dr. Crane said, letting himself out of her office. He gave Miss Dennis his most unnerving smile and left the building.
This is by no means my first 'fic. It is however, my first non-research paper thing I've written in a long while. I would appreciate good criticism on how to make it less dry, more descriptive and what works and doesn't in regards to characterisation.
Rating: PG
Title: Untitled
Part: 1/?
Warnings: None for now.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything that belongs to DC and Time Warner/AOL.
Summary: Six years later Crane is released and gets a new job.
How far the mighty have fallen, the young man thought as he watched the city flash by through the train window.
Who said you were ever mighty?
He hushed the pointed comment. Another job to have gotten fired from. I’m not going to make rent this month. I need to eat something today. He opened a notebook and pulled a pen from his breast pocket. He opened the notebook, and crossed out the company’s name. It was the last on a very long list.
Now what? Unless I flip burgers or whore myself out - I won’t have an income. Unless I take to the streets and beg. He closed the notebook and replaced the pen. Those were uncomfortable thoughts. He wriggled in his seat and loosened his tie. He looked out the window again.
The mid-morning sun was bright against the dark stone of the skyscrapers. It was an odd congruency and he looked around the car. The morning rush was over, and there were only a few business men and women running late, too into their cell phone conversations to notice the gangly man in an ill-fitting suit.
Damn that Mrs. Evans and her belief I was ready to be kicked out into this cruel world again after 6 years at Arkham. At least there I was assured a bed and food 3 times a day.
At least her rehabilitation program worked better than yours.
Not really, if I still talk to myself.
He shook his head. Where can I go now? I need to contact Mrs. Evans now. To tell her I’ve been fired from yet another job because of my oh-so-illustrious past as Scarecrow.
Dr. Jonathan Crane got off at the next stop and traipsed down three blocks to the Arkham Asylum, which had been fixed up with the latest technology that Gotham’s elite could buy to keep the crazies in.
He let himself into the pale gold lobby, which had a desk and a secretary these days. The woman looked up, bored.
“Hello Mr. Crane.”
“Doctor, Miss Dennis. I still have a P.h. D., even if my license to practice was revoked.”
“Yes, doctor Crane.” There was an ungrateful ring to her voice, tinny and high-pitched in the silence of the lobby.
“It would help the inmates here if you wouldn’t antagonize them unnecessarily.” He replied evenly.
“Ah, Dr. Crane. A pleasure to see you again.” Mrs. Anita Evans said, coming out of her office at a trot. He smoothly turned to face the older, podgy woman.
“Mrs. Evans. I’m afraid I have bad news.” Jonathan said as he was ushered into her office, tastefully decorated in creams and ivories and soothing greens. She closed the door on her secretary.
“Fired again?” She walked around her well-appointed desk, trailing a faint trace of some perfume. Dr. Crane wrinkled his nose at the reek.
“Got it in one.” He sat down in an over-stuffed chair, balancing the notebook on his knees. Anita looked at it pointedly. With an inward sigh, he handed it over. He waited patiently until she had read it cover to cover.
“That is an impressive list, Dr. Crane.”
“Quite. I’m not sure what exactly my next step should be, since my avenues for employment are somewhat limited, and I doubt a fast-food joint would actually take me.”
“No, I’d imagine they wouldn’t.” She opened the notebook to a doodle of a scarecrow tied to a pole surrounded by gnawing birds. “And what does this mean to you?”
“I am the scarecrow, and the crows are…I suppose my jobs and the people who have been rude to me - from random strangers to the people who have exposed my past to our supervisors; my landlord, and that crow being stabbed is most definitely is Miss Dennis.”
He raised an eyebrow in response to her inquiring look. “She is a constant thorn every time I come. You really need to have a chat to her about being nice to the crazy people. But all in all, the picture is a reflection of the hopelessness I feel returning to the world of the living.”
“Let’s break that down, shall we?” Anita handed the notebook back and pulled out her own notepad and a pen.
Let’s do.
“I’m also talking to myself.”
“How so?”
“I make snarky comments and telling myself that I am a failure. It sounds like the Scarecrow.”
“Interesting.” She sounded genuinely interested. He was the test subject, the only one they had relseased into the world again. If all went well, they’d try to re-introduce those who seemed to really be healed.
He removed his glasses. “I just said, ‘let’s do’ in response to your ‘let’s break that down’ comment.”
Anita jotted the note down and smiled. “That could be your humour coming to the fore, and not necessarily a darker reflection. And last time I checked, we all are our harshest critics. But I thank you for telling me.”
“The point is, I have no idea what to do. Rent is due today, and I have no money for food or rent next month. I found myself contemplating hustling my body or begging.” He looked around at what used to be his office. “It…” he chose his words carefully, “would be comforting to be secure in the knowledge that I have a clean bed, good meals three times a day, good healthcare and a roof over my head.”
Anita gave him a look. “So, you want to come back here, then?”
He gave her an amused grin, looking at her over his glasses. “In a sense, yes. At least my life is routine and secure. But then…I missed the feel of opening my front door and leaving, knowing I could come back.”
“All in all, you’re not doing well, is that it?” Anita prodded gently.
“I am living in a slum, with no job, and eating one meal a day. I’d say I was doing very badly.”
Anita steepled her fingers and looked at Dr. Crane over her fashionably oval glasses. He favoured rectangular ones.
“Well…that is not doing well at all. How about I place you in a guaranteed job for a while?”
“Guaranteed how, and what would the job I’d be doing?” He countered.
“Guaranteed to keep it, because the employer will know of your past and cannot fire you for it, and has to sign lots of papers that says they will have to treat you as they would any trustworthy employee, for a good pay rate.”
Anita leant forward over her desk. “You would be able to leave employment at any time, no reasons to be given. It would be a trial run of an idea I’ve been looking into, just in case you couldn’t find a suitable job on your own. You’d be a personal assistant.”
“Personal assistant? Like keeping a schedule, and appointments straight, and getting coffee, shopping, and picking up dry cleaning? Who of the rich and stupid did you bully into buying into your little scheme?”
Anita laughed good-naturedly. “I didn’t bully anybody, Dr. Crane! Well. Not much. But nobody bit, except Gotham’s very own princeling.”
“You’re kidding. Bruce Wayne himself?” Dr. Crane settled deeper into the cushions, removing his glasses. “I just can’t figure what on earth…but of course. His dearly departed parents tried to set the example of helping the less fortunate, and just maybe he’ll pave the way for you to place the rest of us?”
“In the long run, that would be optimal. I’m not putting any eggs in any basket just yet. I’m still not sure you’re going to make it through, since your track record for the last 6 months indicates it will be very difficult to reintegrate my patients back into the world.”
“Such a vote of confidence, Mrs. Evans.” He smiled faintly, and tapped his glasses on the arm rest.
“Just because you cannot hold a job because someone lets it leak that you were the Scarecrow, does not mean you’re failing. Unless it’s you who leaks that information?” Her eyebrows rose.
Dr. Crane held back a derisive snort. “Absolutely not.” He put his glasses on and shook his head.
“Well, then. Mr. Wayne needs you as soon as possible.”
“That sounds…urgent. You can tell him I’ll be there Monday morning, dressed and pressed.”
“I’ll do that.” Anita nodded. She watched Dr. Crane get up.
He hefted the notebook as though testing its weight. “Do you think you could front me some money so I could buy a suitable set of suits?” He asked finally. He tugged at the old tie and looked at the two-piece he was wearing that was a size and a half too big.
“I’ll see what I can do. This is a state-run institution and I don’t get paid -”
“Yes, I recall that aspect well. I’m sure Mr. Wayne would be willing to help his future employee not to reflect badly on him.”
“I’ll see what I can do, Dr. Crane.” Anita said.
“Thank you.” Dr. Crane said, letting himself out of her office. He gave Miss Dennis his most unnerving smile and left the building.
This is by no means my first 'fic. It is however, my first non-research paper thing I've written in a long while. I would appreciate good criticism on how to make it less dry, more descriptive and what works and doesn't in regards to characterisation.