#cranetm

@cranetm : when does a man become a monster?

Greens pause and glide to take a good look at Jonathan Crane, mirth of old dug out of them by the betrayal of knowing who he is, now, yet not completely gone. Like it stands to reason not to despise the man. "He doesn't." It's never a matter of becoming a monster. Never to Scott. "A man is a man. If he does something terrible, he's a horrible man. Calling him a monster makes it sound like any of us aren't capable of the worst. Makes it easier to just keep doing bad things." Or maybe that's just him - maybe that's just because he knows that othering evil from mankind only really allows it to grow and fester in the hearts of those inclined to say that 'well, I'm evil. But I'm not a monster.'

"But if you ask me what makes a man become the worst possible man he can be -- that's a simpler story. Hurting children. You do that, you're irredeemable."

Send me 🗣️ for incorrect quotes of your muse and mine : : @cranetm

ONE.

Adam : I know every song to ever exist it doesn't matter if it's from the past, present or the future. Crane: Oh yeah? Then continue this. Crane: I don't cook I don't clean- Adam : So let me tell you how I got this ring. Adam & Crane: ….. Adam & Crane: GOBBLE ME, SWALLOW ME-

TWO.

Crane: banging a pen on the table out of frustration Adam : Stop that. How would YOU feel if I banged you on the table? Crane: I— Crane: I don’t know the correct answer to that question.

THREE.

Adam : I did it! I memorized everything in the book! I'm gonna ace this test! Crane: Ok, Adam , I'll give you one more question before you go. What ended in 1918? Adam : 1917. Crane: …You're ready.

( @cranetm ) GETS A PLOTTED STARTER.

One, two, three weeks have passed now since he's settled into Arkham. Rework the security system, keep it running, make sure the fail-safes are in order. All simple stuff, dampened only by the fact that everyone in here seems to be some degree of horrifying. But, hey, Scott Lang's no stranger to the horrifying, even if Gotham's been much bleaker than anywhere else he's been in his world, he finds solace in connecting with the people around him ( oh, look! That's Matt over there, and Brody, Brody has two kids, and if it isn't Stephan flirting with his ex Janine over the phone! ) Scott wouldn't say he fits right in, but he's certainly gotten a good enough read on the people around him.

Except, perhaps, Jonathan Crane. A favorite of his for no particular reason other than having remained a mystery. Doesn't speak of himself much. Gorgeous, yet seemingly unattached. With a cadence about him, yet no marks of companionship in his vicinity. Scott can't help but try and speak to him... just as he is now, preluding with a. "Johnathan! Hey, man! Long week? You've been taking patients in left and right. Seems stressful enough to drive one mad." ( Hahaha, get it? Because he's a psychiatrist. Use of irony. It's funny. Scott's funny. Cassie would laugh at this joke, she would... If she were with him. )

"Anyway," and it's that lethal 'anyway' which marks the start of whatever ridiculousness he'll be spraying the other's way in a second, "you got me all interested in Batman so I started talking to one of the people here about it- the guy, uh," he gestures rightwards and ahead, "over there - wouldn't tell me his name but, regardless - he told me batman had beef with Penguins? What does he have against the poor things? Cuz penguins haven't done wrong by us, I can tell you that much. If anything, we keep hurting them for no reason. Ruining their habitats and whatnot." a beat, nose wrinkling in slight confusion. "Are we absolutely sure the bat-themed guy fighting penguins is a superhero?"

: : @cranetm : : GETS A MOODBOARD. ( Crane && Adam )

They go into the scrawny man’s shoulder, the strong fingers of (who?- uh) Gambol’s men stuck hard in his jacket before throwing him forward. No fiery pops bursting from small autos. No screaming, or quick or slow con-sequences. The harbour past midnight’s a quiet lump of bodies receiving an endless stream of barrels from one of the containers, loaded into lorries and sent away.

The Joker turns away from it.

‘   A—nother VISIT, doc - tor?   ‘      

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."

@cranetm : ❛ you look ridiculous in that outfit, by the way. ❜

IT'S ALMOST AS THOUGH Jonathan craves ridicule with that. Edward can only conclude as much ( less on the basis of legitimate evidence and more by the sway of his desire to amuse himself. ) He shifts at the thought, flips around to embrace the backrest and lean with manner not unlike a snake swaying to jazz.

His cheek goes to rest on the knotted arms, a thrum of fingertips against wood before he's inclined to grin. "Coming from the man who thinks straw hats are a fashion statement, I'm liable to believe that's a compliment, Crowie." Eyes slant, glint of the lamplight dotting summit of irises as they glide to perceive him from above the arms. It's a delicate look, fashioned with the sole purpose of warning the fear addict that he, with all the misfortune in the world, is now the subject of the Riddler's compulsion to offend.

"Has the insatiable Jonathan Crane gone soft on me after all these years? Really, you mustn't be shy about it if you have. I promise my cheeks will turn no bolder than a quiet shade of pink." The most heinous insult he can think of, designed in such playful abandon that he knows it'll hit the mark where it helplessly stands.