“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.
Doctor Crane is silent for a long moment as he examines the documentation, eyes flickering back and forth over the papers and photographs, surprisingly focused under his glasses.
“Tell me,” He spoke at last, glancing up at the young woman over his spectacles, hazel eyes taking in her tensed muscles, clearly ready to strike, “Why do you assume I would know him?”
The victims weren’t anybody he knew- Nobody IMPORTANT. Just the usual rabble of the night. Was there even a pattern? Two men and three women, so far, with no real discernible similarities between them.
And then something caught his eye- A face he had forgotten. Unlike him, usually- But he had been NOBODY. A student, many years ago, who kept his head down.
“...Ah. Yes. John Irving. I remember him now... Quite gruesome, isn’t it? The way they were attacked, these killings were clearly personal... Someone WRONGED BY THEM, perhaps? I, myself, started my endeavors in a similar manner. Is that why you’ve chosen me, tonight, Little Bat? Or something different?”
A part of him, deep inside, wondered if it might be for his expertise in PSYCHOANALYSIS, but he was not so deluded as to believe she held that much respect for him. But, ah, wouldn’t that be nice...”
“...If you want me help, I want to examine the crime scenes in the flesh. Arrange that for me- And, perhaps, more comfortable clothes- And you’ll have bought my assistance.”
He was in no position to make demands- Not here, locked in a cell that belonged more in a PRISON than a MENTAL HOSPITAL- but all the same... If the Bats were desperate enough to seek help from the patients at Arkham, they were clearly in over their heads.
“I’m sure BATMAN can work something out with the good commissioner. Unless, of course, you’re here without his knowledge...”
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