DOCTOR CRANE.

HE SITS IN THE CORNER of his cell, waiting for steps to become their owner. @cranetm, in all of his hilarious glory.

Crane will find him crouched, comfortable, looking up at him with eyes that everyone knows should not have been created so wide and sweet. "I've been waiting for you." He tells him, unfolding legs as he slowly rises, a smile revealed from where it used to be tucked. Irises trail - up, then down - examining his temperament, guessing where he keeps the cheap stand-in for fear. Manufactured terror. Most intriguing, most awaited.

He steps to him, but doesn't yet invade his space. "Let's not waste our time. Echo's outside." A dip of head, again, to display those hollows in all of their death and decay. Crane's shadow is cast upon him, but it only seems to serve those irises in their corruption. "Not for you. For the guards. We wouldn't want to be disturbed, would we?" He chokes a giggle - lets it bubble beneath the rest of his words. "I promise there are no cheap tricks here. I'm not the joker." Never. Never. He spits his name out like acid amidst the honey-laced lull of his voice. "No immunity, nothing. Not even a clue. How I act will be a surprise to the two of us. Brand new."

Only then does he find his space, step too close. His voice is lower, almost sing-song like a lullaby. "Bet you've been wanting to do this a long time. Bet you think I'll look so pathetic." Wide smile becomes wider. Too, too wide. Wrong. "I will."

he shuts the door without turning his back on edward, one brow quirked in a look that can only be described as unimpressed. but he remains quiet, lets the man ramble, get it out of his system, all while slowly stepping closer, pale stare scanning. seeking. edward has made his job easier by crossing the remaining distance. but there is something feverish, borderline manic, to the way words spill from his mouth.

undeterred, the doctor produces a small flashlight with a soft click. ❛ hold still a moment, ❜ he murmurs. it's the only warning ed gets before the light is shone directly into his eyes. those dark abysses.

verse : dc. — the wrong side of town.

It was a short affair, in the end. When the fire raged and the blood dried on the sand, it didn't take long for the world to catch up with Miriam Baxter Ross. The arrest and assessment were followed by months of waiting, interspersed with bursts of chaotic, terrifying action. Then the bang of a gavel, then a trip to Lake's Crossing.

Six months of futile treatment, talk therapy and sedation later, she found herself transferred, per the petition of a singular professional. The remnants of her life are swallowed up without fanfare. Everything that came before is snatched in the jaws of a greater beast. Miriam is moved to ARKHAM ASYLUM, Gotham City. The facility becomes her new home, complete with strange neighbors and new friends.

In the devoted care of Dr. Jonathan Crane, Miriam undergoes a specialized form of treatment. As her disturbed psyche is molded and reshaped, she begins to learn what it takes to survive among the forgotten and mistreated, and among the colorful, bizarre denizens of Gotham's underworld. Self defense, it turns out, was never quite the point. What she learned in the desert follows her to the concrete jungle. She wants what she is offered. Arkham becomes a hothouse, a place for her to blossom into something new: an acolyte of fear, and a sharp instrument.

𝕄𝕒𝕟 𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕡𝕤 𝕨𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕙𝕖 𝕗𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕤.

@cranetm : "Okay, that's it, I'm cutting you off."

HE'S SURROUNDED by ghouls and spiders and there might even be a goblin in there somewhere. It's all so terrifying.

Which is AWESOME! Because all of the things in front of him are such a sweet distraction from the figure in the shadows, holding small hands up into the air and slowly veering them to point at him. He's gonna stab it once he kills some of the ghouls and gains magical powers by drinking their blood.

"What? WHY!?"   He frowns at the masked man, flailing arms around in exasperation. There's a puddle of sweat at his pits and a steady tremor about him. The small hands are away - far far away - but he thinks, with all the creatures, he'd have the strength to chop them off. He just needs a minute. One more minute. "Why do you wanna hold out on me, dude? This shit's wearing off and, like, I haven't even scratched any of 'em yet, man. Throw me a bone here, come on. One more hit. Hit me. Blow it, weird dude."