#t;interactions

[adrenalinesaint]

It’s October. Which means two things: Jonathan’s birthday is coming and so is Halloween. The former is something that isn’t spoken of -- actually a well guarded secret. He’s not a fan of birthdays, regardless of how spooky the date, being the thirteenth. Just another year closer to the grave, and a date that reminds of places he’d rather never return.

Halloween, though? It goes without saying that his spirits are highest in the spookiest of months. In fact, he’s arriving at Edward’s abode with gifts!

Knock knock-knock-knock-knock! Shave and a haircut. Knock-knock! Two bits.

In his arms, Jonathan carries a massive pumpkin of at least forty pounds. It’s actually a wonder that he’s managed to carry it this far.

@akillerconundrum  ❤‘d for a starter!

[adrenalinesaint]

He’s seen this before. In fact, he’s manufactured this reaction before. Fear is a two way conduit, you see -- a dichotomy where both sides can be manipulated with the right chemical intervention. Consider it a switch that can be turned on or off with penetration of the right needle. He has toxin for fear, yes. But he also has toxin for the elimination of fear. 

But never has he seen the phenomenon of biological resistance to fear. His hypothesis immediately forms: she must have neurotransmitters like his own, fried and twisted from years of abuse. Numbed to the adrenaline and other such chemicals which elicit the fight or flight response, she must have some natural immunity to toxin.

“Fascinating. Have you considered donating your body to science? Prior to death, of course.” 

And out comes the next needle. This time, a sedative. If he can manage to prick her with it.

@fearlessisabella [cont]

[adrenalinesaint]

“ -- Sing for me, my angel of music.”

@notbravebychoice​

[adrenalinesaint]

“The rats are gone. All of them.”

And he knows precisely who let them out and why...

@littlcdeath​

[adrenalinesaint]

Ah, the verdant pedant. What respect Jonathan maintains for this particular savant is tempered with his annoyance at the shorter man’s general disposition. Smarter-than-thou doesn’t generally compute for Crane, given that he is usually the most intelligent man in the room. But he can share the spotlight if it means a juicy morsel of conversation.

Arkham Asylum. It’s probably their thousandth stay, thanks to the Bat. Call it a short stint of time off from work.

“That’s my doughnut, Edward.” Slap on the wrist! He usually doesn’t care. But today, they’re pumpkin doughnuts. So, naturally, the old man is possessive.

@akillerconundrum

[adrenalinesaint]

The work of Jervis Tetch has always been of interest to the ex-professor Crane. Mind control is, after all, directly adjacent to the provocation of certain emotions (I.E. fear) in a subject through chemical means. They both utilize psychedelics in their craft, and they both have been known to obsess over certain young ladies -- Alice and Rebecca, respectively -- although Jervis is notably more obsessed.

Maybe this is why Jonathan feels a kinship with the fellow.

Making his way across the Arkham Asylum cafeteria, avoiding the lesser crazies who bob and weave and strike, Crane approaches the spot Jervis tends to inhabit during their time in the common-space. Tucked under his arm is a parcel wrapped in brown postal paper and tied with beige twine.

“I got this for you.” Jonathan’s voice is low, like a dealer exchanging drugs for cash. “Keep it under wraps, hm?”

Within the parcel is a book. A picture-book, to be precise. One filled with knights that talk backwards and queens that behead, and a certain looking glass featured on the cover.

Jonathan hands it over with a wink.

“I know this place can... be depressing.”

@jcinthedance

[adrenalinesaint]

Lindsay Jones has become something of a caretaker for her old ex-therapist. His lack of regard for his own well-being made it necessary, and her devotion to him made it possible. She buys him groceries and puts them in his cupboards. She makes sure the trash doesn’t pile up and the books are kept dry. She’s respectful towards Becky, and knows Jonathan’s boundaries like the back of her hand. Which is appropriate, given that she will be the next Scarecrow, once his poisoned body finally gives out.

So, it’s somewhat of a role reversal when she arrives with groceries in her arms, bruises on her throat, and one eye swollen shut. At first, Jonathan doesn’t notice.

“Thank you, dear. Perishables in the fridge, please.” A beat of silence, and then he looks up at her with his usual scrutinizing glare. Although this time, it falters. Once it registers in his mind that Lindsay has suffered some manner of violence, his expression shifts to rage. He rises from his writing desk and promptly snatches one of her wrists.

“Who is responsible for this? I’ll have their skull for a salad bowl.”

@littlcdeath

[adrenalinesaint]

“You’re going to wear that? ...Okay. Your choice, I guess.”

@thislittlefinch