The Master of Fear

Dr. Jocelyn Crane. Scarecrow. [under construction]

[jocelyncrane]

did u know that it's (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ h ALLOWEEN SEASON

I am aware, yes.

[sexyprinceofpuzzles]

Breaking out of Arkham like...

[behindtheblackmask]

Have any of the rogues ever successfully gotten off your shitlist? It's probably usually the other way around but now i'm curious.

Forgiveness ain’t really normally in my repertoire but Crane weaseled out of bein in some deep shit with me, once.

[jocelyncrane]

That is perhaps not how I would have put it, but yes.

[bubbledumbitch]

[behindtheblackmask]

That sigh’s angry enough to almost qualify as a growl. As soon as Scarecrow moves, Roman takes stock of the available weapons nearby. Just in case.

"As many of my soldati as you’ve fucked with, I wouldn’t have known. Seems like you’ve kept up the pace with them fine so far." There’s no concern for the fate of the men Scarecrow’s been having… fun with. If they’re dumb enough to get caught, Roman has no use for them. It’s the principle of the thing.

"You’ve been operatin’ out of my turf, Scarecrow. What’d you think was gonna happen? Sendin’ a few of my boys to pay you a visit was the least I could do.” Roman cocks his head to the side, regarding the Scarecrow dubiously. “So what is this? A courtesy call? Or are you lookin to de-escalate this before I rightly lose my shit on you for dosin’ my goddamn people with your fear bullshit?”

[jocelyncrane]

Scarecrow tilts her head jerkily, neck cracking.  And here it is.  "To be completely honest,  I hadn't known I was operating on your turf."  She tries not to let that rankle too much.  Though really, given the constantly twisting nature of the various mob and gang borders, she thinks she can be excused.  For lack of anything better to do with her hands, she folds her arms behind her back again.  

"I assumed I was getting a typical Gotham underworld greeting," she continues after a moment.  "And in fact I did from some other... interested parties."  By which Crane means goons from other employers, several of whom actually had messages to deliver before she conducted her research.  "I will admit I should perhaps have been more suspicious that you were the only one to send me groups."

[themosttiredless-deactivated201]

PSA; concerning greetings and starters

[jocelyncrane]

I don’t tend to do starters unless I really feel like it. So if you want a thread with me the best way to get it done is to either;

Jump in on my meme responses and make those a thread, no need for us to have had a thread before the meme, memes are awesome icebreakers.

Jump one of my open threads.

Invade my askbox both ic and ooc

[behindtheblackmask]

"I thought you’d look a little more like the Party City Halloween aisle, so, ‘ey, I guess we both thought wrong," Roman replies with a shrug, arms splayed out and open palmed. The ledgers and documents spread out around him are of a decidedly confidently nature, so he begins going about cleaning those up. Stacking and pushing out of the way, at least. Scarecrow doesn’t need to know his club’s annual revenue.

He pauses in his work at the question, looking back over at Scarecrow with a very curious tilt of the head. “Do we? Do we really?" He sounds a bit incredulous. Though he’s a mask-wearer himself, he generally considers himself of a slightly different class of criminal. He’s a mobster at heart. The schtick-happy capes are a different breed entirely.

[jocelyncrane]

Scarecrow won't even dignify that with a response.  It's nothing she hasn't heard before.  They'll learn to stop making such remarks soon enough.  She huffs quietly while Black Mask deals with his stack of papers, hopefully quietly enough that it can't be heard through the mask.

"We do."  Crane takes another few steps towards him. "As much as I appreciate the test subjects you've been sending me, perhaps you could stagger them a bit?"  She spreads her hands in a conciliatory almost-shrug.  "I can hardly give them all the attention they deserve when you send so many so quickly."

[behindtheblackmask]

There’s a distinctly ominous quality to the sight of this lanky, burlap-masked figure darkening his proverbial doorstep. It’s one he knows is hardly a coincidence. There’s nothing accidentally frightening about the Scarecrow. He knows carefully concocted imagery when he sees it. He does it himself often enough.

Roman grits his teeth at the intrusion. There’s something especially obnoxious that it’s one of the costumed freaks that got past his men. It could be worse, of course, but that spidery jackass is hardly a welcome sight.

"Scarecrow. I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure," Roman’s voice is a low rumble of a growl; there’s no use hiding his annoyance. People will suffer for this. "I also don’t remember fuckin’ invitin you."

[jocelyncrane]

Scarecrow steps farther into the room.  "Black Mask.  I thought you'd be taller."  There's a delicate balance to dealing with people like this, especially for a new Rogue just establishing themselves.  She hasn't been able to learn much about Black Mask, but the information she did find combined with some good old fashioned deduction leads Crane to believe she can reason with him.  

"We have things to discuss, you and I."  Scarecrow stops several feet away from him, unfolding her arms from behind her back and tilting her head slightly.  She could add something like 'you're not exactly in the phone book,' but remarks like that are beneath her.

[behindtheblackmask]

My Alibi. It’s a remarkably tongue in cheek name for a club owned by one of Gotham’s rogues’ gallery, and not just because its owner is absolutely shit at naming things.

It’s not much to write home about. Hidden in an otherwise unassumingly derelict looking building, entrance down a somewhat long and foreboding hallway. Inside isn’t much better: a coat check, a balcony overlooking the bar floor below. Stripper poles abound. It looks like it’s seen better days - truth be told, Roman hasn’t put a whole lot of effort into fixing this place up after Bane trashed it. It looks especially rough, empty as it is. Empty, save for one man sitting at the bar.

Roman’s behind the bar, pouring over a mess of ledgers and documents spread out on the bar before him. Since his former accountant has proven himself entirely useless as anything save for a punching bag, he’s got to do this bullshit himself. And since the girls are mad as hell his office more or less intersects with their dressing room still… the bar is now his desk. His very messy desk.

The work’s engrossing enough that he barely registers that he’s not alone until he hears… something. His head snaps up, gaze averted from the incomprehensibly scribbled books.

"Who the fuck’s there?" His mouth twists into something of a frown; he thought he’d locked the door. "We’re closed.”

[jocelyncrane]

It's not particularly difficult to find mob bosses in Gotham.  Most people just don't want to.  Scarecrow, on the other hand, is very interested in locating one in particular.  Black Mask.  She walks in the front door of his dingy little club My Alibi.  She likes the entryway at least, though dreary is probably not quite what a club should be going for.  She strolls down the stairs and then the overly long hallway to a balcony overlooking the rest of the club.  She peers over the edge.  Good, there he is at the bar.   Another delightfully dark staircase later, Crane's down at the actual club floor.  She deliberately creaks the door as she pushes it open.  That got his attention.

"I should hope so," Scarecrow says, voice distorted by both the mask and the voice changer.  "I'm certainly not here to drink."

[behindtheblackmask]

You don't use needles as a torture thing, do you, Roman? I think I'd rather you sliced me open with a knife then even so much as threaten me with a needle. Hate those things.

Why wouldn’t I? Needles are a pretty common phobia and fear’s a damn good tool for torture.

[jocelyncrane]

Good evening.

[behindtheblackmask]

Well, ain’t this a surprise. Evenin, Crane.

#i’m actually working on an alternate means of delivering fear toxin#it’s a sort of needle glove

That so, eh? Seems like the needles would get in the way of full range of motion.

[jocelyncrane]

They do, but I only intend to wear the one glove, and not on my dominant hand.  I’m considering it a sort of… special occasion device, I suppose.

[behindtheblackmask]

How special of an occasion would it have to be to get a demonstration of this thing?

[jocelyncrane]

It’s not quite ready for use in costume, but I suppose I could give a small demonstration.  If I were properly motivated, of course.

[behindtheblackmask]

I’ll have to work on findin the right incentive, in that case.

[jocelyncrane]

Do let me know if you think of something.

[jocelyncrane]

Would you wear Eddie while he wears green?

Excuse me.

[misterenygma]

awww why not

You seem to have some deep misunderstanding about the sort of working relationship Dr. Crane and I have.

Clothes lending is not a thing that happens.

[jocelyncrane]

I don’t think green is quite my color anyway.

[misterenygma]

I don’t know, it could be.

[jocelyncrane]

Hmm.

[misterenygma]

awww why not

You seem to have some deep misunderstanding about the sort of working relationship Dr. Crane and I have.

Clothes lending is not a thing that happens.

[jocelyncrane]

I don't think green is quite my color anyway.

[behindtheblackmask]

You don't use needles as a torture thing, do you, Roman? I think I'd rather you sliced me open with a knife then even so much as threaten me with a needle. Hate those things.

Why wouldn’t I? Needles are a pretty common phobia and fear’s a damn good tool for torture.

[jocelyncrane]

Good evening.

[behindtheblackmask]

Well, ain’t this a surprise. Evenin, Crane.

#i’m actually working on an alternate means of delivering fear toxin#it’s a sort of needle glove

That so, eh? Seems like the needles would get in the way of full range of motion.

[jocelyncrane]

They do, but I only intend to wear the one glove, and not on my dominant hand.  I’m considering it a sort of… special occasion device, I suppose.

[behindtheblackmask]

How special of an occasion would it have to be to get a demonstration of this thing?

[jocelyncrane]

It's not quite ready for use in costume, but I suppose I could give a small demonstration.  If I were properly motivated, of course.

[behindtheblackmask]

You don't use needles as a torture thing, do you, Roman? I think I'd rather you sliced me open with a knife then even so much as threaten me with a needle. Hate those things.

Why wouldn’t I? Needles are a pretty common phobia and fear’s a damn good tool for torture.

[jocelyncrane]

Good evening.

[behindtheblackmask]

Well, ain’t this a surprise. Evenin, Crane.

#i’m actually working on an alternate means of delivering fear toxin#it’s a sort of needle glove

That so, eh? Seems like the needles would get in the way of full range of motion.

[jocelyncrane]

They do, but I only intend to wear the one glove, and not on my dominant hand.  I'm considering it a sort of... special occasion device, I suppose.

[behindtheblackmask]

You don't use needles as a torture thing, do you, Roman? I think I'd rather you sliced me open with a knife then even so much as threaten me with a needle. Hate those things.

Why wouldn’t I? Needles are a pretty common phobia and fear’s a damn good tool for torture.

[jocelyncrane]

Good evening.

[greasepaintedarchive-blog]

Your Lucky Day In Hell

[greasepaintedarchive-blog]

Joker’s got a few more things in mind before they make their exit. Specifically, and especially important, he has to peer into the little office and steal a… bottle of water that he finds. That gets put in with his stolen pharmaceuticals. He’s honestly a little disappointed that there wasn’t any food with it, but he can get that later. They’ve got… a while. A day, specifically.

He takes a guard’s hat, left on the desk, for good measure and simply because he can; he plops it on his head and tucks his hair up in it as he wobbily strolls back over to Scarecrow. His own package of ill-begotten goods gets pushed up into the vent. Joker scrambles up after, his limbs not quite cooperating with him. He gets partially in before his arms just go no, screw you and then it’s all slowly oozing back out of the vent from there. Joker groans quietly in frustration. “A hand? Maybe.”

[jocelyncrane]

Crane watches with poorly disguised amusement as Joker tries and fails to climb into the vent.  Well, that's almost worth having to touch him again.  Before he can slide all the way out, she grabs hold of his legs and shoves him back in.  And then for good measure, she clambers up and partway into the vent herself.  

"Head for Intensive Treatment," she says brusquely.  She's annoyed about having to share her little hideaway with Joker of all people, but there's not much she can do about it now.