The quiet of the night finds Jonathan Crane lying awake in his cell, glasses glinting in the dull moonlight shining through a window at the end of the hall- His sleep, what little came, was dull and uneventful, and had lasted only an hour or two. The time, a glance at the clock posted outside told him, was nearly three in the morning, far too early for any guard or doctor to entertain him.
How DREADFUL the boredom was… At least during the day they tended to allow him writing utensils. He worked on his theories, most days, far away from the other patients. The doctors appreciated that, afforded him courtesies that men like THE JOKER would never know.
The words of THE BAT roused him from his thoughts, and he glanced at his cell doors, one eye cocking up at the young woman, clad in black and yellow, a scheme he had come to know so well over the last decade or so- Not BATMAN. Not his ENEMY, but one of his CHILDREN.
“Batwoman,” He said, voice quiet, soft- Softer than his identity would suggest, as if he transformed when surrounded by straw and burlap and chemicals; “To what do I owe this… PLEASURE?”
One hand scratched at the back of the other, tiny red pinprick scars no doubt visible to the vigilante’s well-trained eye, evidence of his history of SELF-MEDICATION.
“If you’ve some inkling that I’ve committed some GRAND CRIME, you’re mistaken. Ask the guards; I’ve been on my best behavior.”
“BATGIRL,” cassandra corrects. the softness in crane’s voice unnerves her, sets her on edge, but she can read no attack coming, no means to lure her into a false sense of security -- not yet. at his claim of best behavior, she resists the urge to snort, but surely the incredulity shows in the way her eyebrows rise, even behind the skin-tight mask. “best behavior,” she repeats, skeptically.
cass paces before the bars, shoulders stiff. interrogations are one thing -- asking for help from an enemy is quite another. finally, she just throws the case file she’d scrounged together from oracle’s desk through the bars. it flips open, scattering the papers: crime scene photographs, evidence reports, autopsies -- everything related to the latest serial killer’s gory works. “know him?” she demands. crosses her arms, waiting for a response. she’s impatient, and ready to start swinging if that will get her cooperation faster.
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