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Post by latikono on Sept 13, 2005 0:04:50 GMT -5
(Chapter Sixteen - In Which . . .
Ya, the title's still in progress. This is another half chapter, sorry. I've been a bit lazy lately with working on that Cillian color pencil drawing for art class, plus Final Fantasy X. Already beat it zillions of times a couple of years ago, but I just got it again and I'm addicted. I swear, I'll finish up this chapter either tomorrow or the next day. Here's the first part.)
Dahlia must have been tired, he only assumed. She probably wasn't used to so much activity, and with her reclusive nature, he also assumed her to be quite the hermit. That lead to laziness, which led to lack of long-term stamina. He, on the other hand, was quite a disciplined businessman, and seemed always with dormant energy waiting to be unleashed. Everything else would wait, and money, experimentation, and developing his toxin and fear gadgets came first. That was all that mattered. Unfortunately for Dahlia however, Crane was in quite the cheery, confident mood that Friday morning in the psychology classroom. Jobs this week seemed to be piling up at his feet, and that meant lots and lots of cash, lots and lots of opportunities to enhance his weapon development and research. And this new one, only brought up the previous night, was as simple as can be, or so he was told. And he was told by Richard Dodge no less. He was well known among the scum of Gotham to be both a coward and a cheap man, one with no sense of pride - This job had to have been desperate if he was willing to hire outside help. Crane had to be careful in this one. Dodge was about as untrustworthy as he was.
Not surprisingly, Dahlia came in quietly. Her hesitant greeting and shy movements gave away her somber mood. ". . . Jonathan?" She said with about as much might as a mouse, standing far from him and glancing toward the floor every few seconds. He himself, being so preoccupied with the thrill of yet another job, wasn't quite willing to put his attention on whatever had happened to her. Instead, he greeted her quite complimentary, and just hoped that some characteristic within her would absorb some of his mood so he wouldn't have to face the problem directly. "Ah, Dahlia, my dear!" Crane approached her, both arms out as he smiled, appearing happy that she was there. "Our luck rises every day. Another of Gotham's rich businessmen has addressed me with a simple task. Our funds will be in excess after this." Once close, one of his hands rested on her shoulder, the other grazing down her cheek before it, too, rested on her opposite shoulder. "That's good news . . ." Lowering her head, her blush becoming less alerted by Crane's touch, Dahlia nodded. And after a short pause, she continued somewhat nervously, "But, I need to tell you something, I think you should know . . ." "Is it important?" Of course it was. Any fool could tell with her tone of voice. But perhaps she would take the opportunity to back away from this unknown subject, give him more room to explore the new job and let his concerns lie no where else. Crane just didn't care about anything else. ". . . Well . . ." Well? ". . . I guess not, no. Not really . . . Never mind." There. On to more important matters.
"Right then. Anyway, of this new job . . ." The only thing that was a huge irritant of Crane's was . .
"I'll need you to meet with our client, tonight." "Me? By myself?" Dahlia's eyes lifted to meet Crane's, hers a bit woeful. Nodding, Crane continued as he brushed a strand of hair behind his ear, "Yes. I apologize for that, but I am required to finish up some grading and to meet with the staff a bit later this afternoon. After all, I must maintain a respected name in order to avert suspicion or wariness." "HM, ya . . ." She slowly nodded several times, definitely nervous about this solo meeting. One of her eyebrows suddenly rose, and she asked, "But what if he, like, tries to-" "-I'll send my men with you, armed and prepared for the worst. There's no need to fear, Dahlia." He awaited some sort of confirmation before continuing. Dahlia eventually nodded once again, and she too was silent, most likely awaiting the directions and time of the meeting. "Meet Richard Dodge at the docks at midnight. He will be waiting in an Italian suit, most likely sporting some brutes by his side. You'll come by here first, where some of my men will escort you there and keep you safe. They will be yours to command. Understand?" Dahlia nodded again. Then she asked curiously, "What's the job?" "Are you familiar with Fenton's?" She again nodded. "Mr. Dodge owns the company. Lately, Fenton's competition with Killinger's department stores has been virtually one-sided. They will soon shut down with lack of income. I assume Mr. Dodge wishes us to somehow motivate customers to attend and spend money. Either that or get rid of the competition from Killinger's. He was quite insistent on discussing the matter privately, this meeting."
"I see . . ." Dahlia replied softly, eyes cast down once again. "That's a shame. I really like Killinger's. Cheap and lots of good merchandise . . . No wonder Fenton's is going out of business." Crane chuckled lightly. "Yes. Well, business is business."
"Hmm . . ." That following silence indicated the end of the conversation. Crane wandered to his desk to organize a few piles of papers and shove some documents here and there inside the drawers. After that, he found himself idly scanning the many archives and educational posters on the walls of the classroom. It seemed he had a free afternoon then, with all his work done and with classes having ended. About a minute later, Dahlia spoke up again as she slowly wandered toward him, head down and tilted to the side, "Don't you ever get tired of working?" Crane replied with a questioning stare. "I mean, don't you ever just take a break and have fun?" Intended both seriously and at the same time with a touch of humor, he replied verbally, "I don't know the meaning of the word."
Crossing her arms, Dahlia smiled. "All I ever see you do is work or read. I mean, don't you go out to a movie, or go sight-seeing or something?" "My time is spent working and reading." Crane replied simply, raising his eyebrows as he too smiled. He didn't like where this was going. With an open afternoon and Dahlia with most likely nothing to do . . . "Then why don't you come with me and just . . . like, hang out?" She shrugged. "I mean, if you have nothing to do. We could grab a bite to eat, and then do something else if we have time, I guess." And for a few minutes, he was silent, carefully thinking it over. Really, he just wanted to return home, give some attention to his pet crow and the workers in the basement, and read. It was just like Dahlia said - All he really did was work and read. Every weekend he would visit the coffee shop on the corner near Killinger's and read the newspaper, but that was his only luxury. What fun was going to a movie or sight-seeing? How boorish. People-watching on the other hand . . . He wondered if Dahlia was the type to do such a thing as watch and observe others.
But his silence was too long. Dahlia's sudden words broke through his mind's voice, and he quickly looked at her (actually, he had been looking at her, but was so lost in thought that he hadn't been able to process the visual information). "And if you just don't want to, I understand. That's okay. I have some things I could do-" "Oh, no, don't be silly, Dahlia." Crane waved his hand at her, interrupting, and said with some sarcasm, "I'm sorry. I was just thinking about how entertaining of company I could possibly be to you." "Well . . ." Dahlia murmured the next words quite shyly, ". . . We are friends, right?" Oh well. Some leisurely time wouldn't hurt. Perhaps it would be, dare he think, fun? Crane finally let out a short sigh to himself as he glanced toward the door, then to the uncluttered top of his dark oak desk. Then looking back to Dahlia from the corner of his eyes and over his glasses frames, he asked with a smile, "What exactly did you have in mind?"
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Post by seonedevinian on Sept 13, 2005 4:06:22 GMT -5
'in which fun creeps unsettlingly close to the scarecrow'? hehe, good chapter, or half chapter. i like where this is headed, seeing Dahlia and Crane interact socially will be...exciting, really! cool, can't wait to see if it'll be awkward, or surprisingly like romantic or what....ooh, my wheels are turning! yay, good work!
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Post by Murchadh on Sept 13, 2005 19:07:49 GMT -5
yah fun time! What ever will they do? So much to do, so many people to maime. j/k . I loved this chapter, half or not, and don't feel bad I havn't worked on mine lately either, things happen and sometimes a break is either needed or required for one reason or another.
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Post by latikono on Sept 14, 2005 22:14:44 GMT -5
(Next part. And I finally got a name!
Chapter Sixteen - In Which He is Entertained.)
"Heh. You always sit here by the window, don't you?" At the corner coffee shop and after ordering a meal, Crane had went and taken his usual seat, which so conveniently was empty on this unscheduled visit. Dahlia soon came to join him in their private corner, sitting adjacent to him. "I am but a creature of habit." He smiled. "So, tell me, Dahlia . . ." Reclining back in the retro yellow chair, he crossed one leg over the other and rested his hand on his knee, his free arm coming up and behind the back of the chair in relaxation. His head sat high and proud upon his slender neck. ". . . How have things been going for you? Good, I expect. I've seen a drastic change in the amount of shoves and verbal insults you recieve."
"Hm, ya." She gave a half laugh, half scoff, grinning. "Everyone's really careful around me now, and people are actually talking to me and trying to be nice. It's like suddenly they want to be friends because of Natalie and Caitlin, and one girl even offered me an invite to some slumber party today . . . What slime, huh?" They both laughed. "The slimiest of Gotham's youth." Then his eyes narrowed, and he smirked as he craned his head forward slightly, "I've also noticed some radical changes in your personality. Good changes, mind you." "Are you serious?" Her cheeks filled with redness as her smile widened. "Oh, quite. Suddenly you're as easy to read as a book." She could only counter with a murmurred, 'Urrghh' and a laugh as she hid her face with her palms. It was cute how easily flattered she was. He continued on after a short pause, "But I see you've also attained a sense of self worth, hm? You no longer need such extreme circumstances to defend yourself. You're much more . . . confident, and self-assured." Seeing that she was now gazing at him with the sweetest smile she could muster, truly appreciating all that he said, he only felt inclined to continue on. "You're a woman now. That shy girl has finally been left behind." "Thank you . . . Jonathan."
A young, stout waitress finally came by with both of their beverages, and served up their food. Dahlia recieved a large plate with half of a roast beef sandwich and a side salad, small chunks of grilled chicken scattered over the spinach leaves. When another plate was placed in front of Crane, to which he replied with a soft 'Thank you,' Dahlia leaned forward slightly and asked, "What's that?" Unfolding a napkin and resting it beside his plate, Crane replied, "Spinach and feta cheese croissant." "Ooh, looks good. I should try that next time." She carefully picked up her cappuccino and sipped it.
". . . So . . . Um, Jonathan . . ." The stuffed croissant was pretty good, and was definately filling for such a small dish. Creamy, warm, and full of flavor. Plus, he hardly ever had the luxery of eating out. Crane glanced up after sticking another piece in his mouth with a fork, chewing politely as he awaited Dahlia's words. Her fingers idly ran about the rim of her coffee mug. "You never really went into detail about your childhood . . . About your bullying. And, I don't mean to pry or to be nosy or anything, but . . . well, I was just wondering . . . Well, curious, and . . ." Crane swallowed what food was in his mouth, then finished gently, ". . . You were wondering what specific treatments I suffered and how it ended?" After another pause, Dahlia nodded and looked up to him, resting her hands in her lap under the square table. Those horrible times never left his nightmares.
"My own account of such abuse began when I was just a child, and continued on into even my later adolescence, around your age. It never peaked nor did it suddenly vanish - Every day I was getting tripped, shoved, punched, kicked, and I was showered with apple cores, tin cans, and whatever else you could very well throw at some loathsome stray dog. It was very much like what you went through, though I expect you weren't branded with any sort of cruel nickname, and mocked with it whenever you would step out into the world." Crane rested his fork and knife atop his plate, then intertwined his fingers and leaned forward on the table, being drawn into his own story. Dahlia, too, leaned forward as she listened intently. "The vocabulary never changed. It was always 'geek,' or 'freak,' or 'nerd,' among other things . . ." ". . . They called you Scarecrow?" Dahlia said with only pure sympathy, her eyes glossening under the bright overhead lights. "When I was sixteen years old, a group of male students thought it would be most amusing to tie me up in a remote cornfield, prop me up on a tall wooden post, and stuff my clothes with straw. All of this, of course, after beating me into submission to their innocent practical joke and short kidnapping." He paused as he saw Dahlia's mouth slightly open, and heard her make a somewhat muffled gasping sound. "I wasn't discovered until twenty hours later." The nightmarish images flashed in his mind.
"But . . . how did you get revenge? With the toxin?" Dahlia clasped her hands together and rested her lips to her thumbs, her elbows propped up on the table. "My fear toxin is a fairly new invention. I only finished developing it the other week, and production had begun about six years ago. My resources were scarce, as you now know. I had to settle for the simplicity of the handgun." He could tell immediately that she was nervous now. With wide eyes, she carefully questioned, "You . . . You didn't, like . . . kill anyone . . . ?" Crane smiled and gave a short chuckle. "No. There was no need for death. Their fear and panic of the potential doom was quite satisfactory." He lied. She almost seemed to breath a sigh of relief. After a moment of regaining her composure, Dahlia spoke up again, fascinated and curious.
"Tell me more." "Hmm." Crane sighed, glancing out the windows of the shop. "I wonder what of . . . Ah." Those blue hues averted back to Dahlia. "Then there was when I was eighteen. I was terribly infatuated with one of the more well-known females around my high school . . ."
~**~**~**~**~**~
The same waitress came by to take both of the empty coffee mugs and each dirty plate, eyeing Crane with a shy smile as her cheeks became rosy with color. As she headed away, Dahlia leaned forward towards him and gave Crane's arm a light pat as she grinned. Then pointing to the waitress, she said quite playfully, "You see! I told you! Girls drop like flies all around you!" About an hour had gone by since Dahlia and Crane arrived at the coffee shop, and that was plenty of time for both of them to become quite involved in their vigorous conversation. He had replied with a bit of added energy, him too leaning forward, "First of all my dear, she looks like she barely got out of puberty." Dahlia snickered as he continued. "Second, I have no interest in the young female persuation, nor does such immature flattery such as a smile and admiring glance sway me." "Oh, psh." She gave him another playful pat on the arm as she leaned back in the chair and crossed one leg over the under. But as her eyes leisurely travelled to the street scene out the window, Crane noticed her eyes slowly widen, and her head c*ck forward. "Hey!" "Hm?" He asked with furrowed eyebrows. "That's my Dad!" Dahlia stood and ran to the door, then jogged out to meet a tall, middle-aged man in a police uniform.
Oh my . . . Wouldn't this be interesting? Actually . . . it would. Crane had yet to find out anything about Dahlia's family, and right there was an opportunity to see her father face to face, and see what kind of man he was. The picture was hard to place - A sleezy oaf who barely lifted a finger to work and provide for a daughter? No no. Dahlia was going to Gotham State University after all. Perhaps more insensitive than lazy . . . Crane guessed on a father who was ignorant to his daughter's true nature, and most definately ignorant to her school life. In no rush, he followed the goth girl outside, and sauntered up to the two exchanging a few words of greeting.
". . . What are you doing around here, Dad?" "Off duty. Just decided I'd grab a cup of coffee or something, eh?" His grey eyes looked over to Crane once the younger man had joined the group, and his face remained lit up and curious. "Hello? May I help you, Sir?" Dahlia laughed, then placed her hand on Crane's shoulder and introduced him. "Dad, he's with me. This is my psychology professor from school." "Oh? Wow, you're a young guy for being a college professor. Must be a smart guy." Lou smiled and held out his hand. "Lou Rhodes."
Crane smirked, calm as always. He took Lou's hand and shook it firmly. "Jonathan Crane. Nice to finally meet you, Mr. Rhodes." Then he clasped his hands behind his back. "Your daughter is quite a fine student, I'm sure you know. Brightest in her class, and one of the few who manages to stay awake during my lectures." From the corner of his eyes, he saw Dahlia blush and lower her head as she smiled. "Ha ha, well I'd think so." Lou replied. "She's my kid, after all." As he looked to his daughter with what only Crane could describe as pride, he continued, "Most of her life, she's had that nose stuck in psychology books or her feet busy trying not to trip when doing that Aikido stuff. Didn't pay off though. She's so damned shy, little mouse." "Da-ad . . ." Dahlia nagged in embarassment.
In his mind, Crane laughed. Her father, this Lou, one of the seemingly more sincere cops of Gotham, was oblivious to his daughter's evolution. Completely and totally oblivious. What a fool. His own daughter, and he wasn't truly aware of her behavior ormental workings. He must have either been a fairly busy man or was simply that unobservant. Either way, it was just more convenient on Crane to not have to be so cautious as he expected to be.
"Oh, I need to get going." Lou quickly said as he glanced to his silver watch. Then glancing to Dahlia, he playfully tousled her hair. "I'll be gone all night again, Pumpkin. Take care of yourself, and if you're going to be out at night, take pepper spray just in case that maniac Scarecrow decides to jump on you like an idiot." To that, Crane's devious smile widened. "And don't let this guy turn you into a labrat or something." He joked, smiling. "Bye. Nice meetin' you, Professor." Crane nodded and leaned forward slightly, almost like a polite bow. "Until we meet again, Officer." "Bye, Dad."
The two watched his uniform leave down the street, disappearing into the crowd and meshiing together with the rest. He was still in thought as he stared down the sidewalk, smiling to himself. Dahlia finally interrupted as she tugged on his sleeve like a child, "Think he suspects anything?" "No. He doesn't suspect a thing." Crane reassured as he took Dahlia's opposite shoulder and turned her around, then led her back down the opposite street by his side. Actually, he himself knew that Lou must have suspected something, not necessarily their criminality. The most obvious thing would be the possibility of Crane and Dahlia in a relationship. Young, charming, and handsome college professor, and a lonely teenage girl with hardly any friends who seems to only excel in the professor's class. The common observer would put two and two together. Hopefully Lou was just as unobservant as he thought.
They still had time to kill, and so Crane quietly submitted to a trip to the cinema with Dahlia. He somehow wasn't surprised that she had suggested a historical picture as opposed to some silly teenage movie with sex and toilet humor. He had fun, actually. A quick check-up back at the laboratory in Crane's basement was made before Dahlia fianlly said her farewells and left for home to prepare for the night's meeting with Richard Dodge. Meanwhile, Sheryl called out for her master, lonely and hungry. Crane ran his fingers over her feathers as he stood at the bottom of the staircase in the basement. One of the thugs working nearby glanced to him several times before finally having the gut to question, "Hey, boss? Why you keeping that girl around again?" There was a pause, each of the half a dozen thugs eventually looking up from his individual work to Crane, curious and waiting. Finally Crane broke the silence with a muffled chuckle. Not so much as one of amusement, but one that was somewhat malevolent.
"You know, I had almost forgotten . . ."
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Post by latikono on Sept 18, 2005 2:17:02 GMT -5
(Chapter Seventeen - In Which a Meeting is Held)
Chapter Seventeen - In Which the Meeting is Held
"What's up with Banshee?" "I dunno. She's been musical and giddy all night."
Two of Crane's thugs in the front seats of the van whispered to each other as Dahlia sat between two more on one of the steel benches in the back, smiling to herself and singing softly. Her fingers smoothed one clump of her wavy black hair slung over her shoulder over and over again. Her grinning white porcelain mask rested on her lap, watching her. One of the thugs at her side leaned forward and stared at her for a moment before questioning in his deep, gruff voice, "What's gotten into you alluva sudd'n?" As if the thug himself were the great source of happiness keeping her so cheerful, Dahlia leaned towards him and the smile stretching across her cheeks. "Nothing, really. I'm just having fun." She reached out and playfully poked his nose. His eyebrows creased upwards as his jaw dropped slightly in confusion. "Well, you better pull it together." The driver bellowed, glancing over his shoulder for only a moment. "If you screw up this deal, Crane's gonna take it out on us, Little Miss. Think you can manage it?"
She suddenly leaned forward as she wrapped her fingers around the back of his neck, making sure that he felt her nails on his oily skin. "Call me anything like that again, Buster, and I'll slit your filthy throat." Was he threat she whispered in his ear in a low tone. And after a pause, she reverted back to her cheeriness and sat back up, letting her nails slide away. ". . . That answer your question?" "Yes ma'am, it did." He replied with a small smirk. Dahlia didn't need advice from some anonymous thug. Crane told her everything she needed to know, and gave her his godly advice. Take everything seriously, never give compassion or trust to business partners, always be alert and wary, be keen on even the most minute of details . . . Everything that would be sure to keep Dahlia safe, and be sure to keep Richard Dodge from screwing them over.
The two vans pulled out on the wide pavement of the docks, surrounded and concealed by giant crates and boxes ready to be shipped out overseas. The stars were once again dull, leaving the darkness of night help hide their operation. As the disguised Banshee stepped out, assisted by one of Crane's men, she immediately noticed the chilly air - It was a good thing she was wrapped up in a long winter skirt and coat. The ripples of the vast waters dozens of feet below bounced the white moonlight off its surface, otherwise only appearing as a sea of black. The entire area seemed to be stripped of color apart from the dullest tones of navy blue and green of the crates - It was gloomy, and dismal, and a somehow familiar, but dangerous looking area. Dahlia only felt secure from Crane's personal promise, and the fact that each of the eight thugs he had sent off with her was armed and ready to defend on command. For several moments, they waited. Three men went out to scout the perimeter, keeping their eyes peeled for lawmen, especially the Batman. If he showed up this time, he was bound to take them all out. Dahlia only had four canisters of fear toxin, and they were to be saved for emergencies. How likely would it be to poison the cunning Batman more than once?
The sound of rubber rolling on concrete echoed off the warehouses in the distance, nearby the enormous crane built into the side of the dock, and each weapon was lifted to point towards it. Concentrating hard on the darkness, she finally made out a limousine driving towards them - Dodge. As it turned, the bright cylindrical lights were cast upon them all. And finally, it rolled to a stop, and the driver turned off the engine. The first to emerge were several of Dodge's own thugs, just as predicted. They, too, held guns, and looked just as mean as Crane's men. Next, from the passenger's seat, a young-looking man in a black suit stepped out. He actually had reminded Dahlia of Crane, in a more feminine and somehow conniving way - Certainly not as handsome at all, with the inflamed red skin over his cheeks and parts of his forehead, and what appeared to be a break out of zits and pimples like an early teenager. The soles of his fine shoes stepped loudly on the ground as he came around to the front of the limo, leisurely walking forward with a stupid smirk laid over his wide lips. "Funny. I thought we were meeting a Jonathan Crane, not a lost little girl." Oh yes. She did not like him.
"Dr. Crane couldn't be here tonight. He apologizes for that." With a bit of warning in her steady, low, and cold voice, Dahlia's one eye looked out to the young man under a lowered eyelid. "But I warn you, Mr. . . . ?" "Reid." His lips held a lopsided smile. "Mr. Reid . . . Don't treat me like a child, unless you want to never wake up from sleep again." And for the visual learner, Dahlia pulled her heavy coat back to reveal the bottles of fear toxin on her belt. "Dr. Crane sent me personally, and he wouldn't have done so unless he knew I could handle the job, correct?" "Yes, Miss . . .?" ". . . Banshee, for now." Her eyes narrowed as her mouth held a wide, sarcastic grin. "Yes, Miss Banshee. You do have a good point."
Finally the back door opened, and out stepped who must have been Richard Dodge. Compared to this slimy Mr. Reid, Dodge was a handsome man. He looked to be into his late thirties or early forties, with a strong squared jaw and sharp facial features. The light brown tan of his skin and his dark hair made him look Spanish. Like Crane said, he was in an Italian suit, pinstriped, that fit him quite well with his tall frame and big, broad shoulders. His whole appearance reminded Dahlia of an epic hero - He looked like the type of guy who would go by a code of chivalry, someone very suave and charming, and definitely rich. This guy looked like he could take on the Batman and sip champagne at the same time.
"So Dr. Crane isn't here?" Dodge's voice was so much more gentle and kind than Dahlia would have thought. "Pity. I looked forward to meeting this maker of nightmares." As he came around to the front of the limo beside Reid, his eyes squinted as he looked Dahlia up and down like a fine prize to be won at an auction. Slowly his handsome lips curled into a smile. ". . . And I had also hoped for the chance to meet the Banshee as well. Richard Dodge. You are much more beautiful in person." He held out a strong hand. "Banshee seems misleading. I would have loved to title you the Graceful Mummer." "Keep your claws to yourself." Banshee replied as she placed a hand on her hip and looked him up and down as if he were an insect lying on its back, all legs up, twitching and squirming. "Oh? Pity . . ." Dodge kept smiling though withdrew his hand and slipped it into his pocket. "Do you hold someone dearly in your heart?" "What does that have to do with anything?" She could feel her cheeks grow hot under the mask. "Nothing, really." "Dr. Crane is professional in his work I hope you know." "Yes, I do." Gesturing a stiff finger towards him, she warned, "Then get the idea out of your head unless you'd rather prefer I do it for you." "Yes, Miss Banshee."
What a creep. So far, Dodge only proved himself too 'charming' for his own good, nosy, and if she wasn't so unconfident in herself, it would seem like he was interested in her for more than business. Just the way his eyes were cast upon her, how he was so personal and was smiling, showing off those straight white teeth . . . Crane had warned Dahlia of Dodge, and now those seemingly over exaggerated faults he described were true.
Besides, she wasn't available. Her heart would only fawn over Jonathan Crane, and Jonathan Crane only. Clearing her throat, Banshee crossed her arms and said, "What is this business you wanted to discuss, Mr. Dodge? We haven't got all night." "Yes, yes. Business." Dodge then cleared his throat, and stepped forward, which was countered with Dahlia stepping back and towards one of her own thugs. He only smiled and silently chuckled, then continued. "As I'm sure Dr. Crane must have told you, my line of department stores, Fenton's, is going out of business. Killinger's has been stealing many of my customers, and very soon, I will be bankrupt." The gears in her head were turning, and she concluded aloud, "You want us to take care of the owner and basically destroy the store?" "Precisely." He nodded. "Though, don't waste time trying to find the owner. I don't care much for the man . . . Destroy everything you can, poison the customers, all of those types of charming things. Whatever will drive people away to the safety of my own store. Put them out of commission."
"And when will this take place?" "As soon as possible. Tomorrow afternoon, if Dr. Crane is available. Saturdays are busy days, after all. And during the day, also, to terrify the customers and to avoid the Batman." So far, so good. The terrorizing of innocent people made Dahlia highly uncomfortable, but he mentioned nothing of killing them - She would go as far as needed, so long as no blood was shed. There was only one other item that needed to be discussed before Dahlia could make a good report back to Crane.
"When will we be paid?" "After the deed is done." Dodge replied somewhat quickly. "If all goes according to plan, my payment shall be made directly to your headquarters as soon as possible." A pause in dialogue. "Is it a deal, Miss Banshee?" Dodge reluctantly held out his hand once again, still smiling. Banshee looked to Mr. Reid first, seeing that he, too, was smiling arrogantly. Then she glanced back to Dodge, who looked like he was begging her with his brown eyes to accept the deal as if it were a marriage proposal. Hiding her contempt for him, she slowly reached out and shook his hand firmly, trying to appear strong and in control of the situation. Last thing she wanted was to appear too feminine, and lose respect in such an important manner. "Farewell, Mr. Dodge. Until next time we meet." Pulling her hand back, Banshee turned and gestured to each of her thugs as they headed back to the vans. "It was a pleasure meeting you." Dodge called out. There, with his men, he watched the group drive away and off of the docks.
As they drove, Dahlia had glared at Dodge though the back windows until the large crates finally blocked her view. She then sneered and reclined back in her seat, untying the ribbons to her mask and removing it as she ranted aloud, "I really don't like that guy. I mean, does Jonathan really need all of his money to get by with producing the fear toxin? I would have rather gassed him right then and there. Ugh. Creepy bastard." The four thugs in the van with her chuckled. Assuming too much of their knowledge, she questioned aloud, "Does he have a reputation for being a lecher or pervert or anything?" The thug nearest her on her left side replied as he shrugged, "No clue. Crane never fills us in on anything. Jus' tells us to go here and there and act like bodyguards." "Ya," The thug on her opposite side joined in, "Crane's hard to read, like wallpaper that guy." ". . . Ya, what's up with that, huh? Does he think we give a crap er somethin'?" "Why do you care? You sound an awful lot like a woman ya big pansy." He glanced to Dahlia and gave a crooked and humorous smile. "No 'fense, Banshee." "Shut up, doofus." The other thug gave him a punch in the shoulder. Dahlia laughed. It sounded foolish to her inside her mind, but these cheap thugs, seemingly brainless and all brawn, the scum of Gotham above the corrupt teenagers and policemen, were almost like brothers to her now. Now that they were treating her with some respect, treating her like one of them, she liked them. She honestly felt like she was part of a kinship with Crane and his men - She was accepted. It just added to her warmth and security.
Now, to report back to Crane. Dahlia hoped very much that he would be pleased with her work. She always loved the praise he gave her.
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Post by latikono on Sept 18, 2005 23:15:06 GMT -5
(Chapter Eighteen: In Which She Confesses.)
". . . You're not . . . mad at me, are you?" Dahlia's fingers nervously picked at the hem of her shirt sleeve as she sat in the back of the speeding van, masked as the Banshee. The ride was bumpy and she found herself sliding a bit to the right and left as the driver swiftly pulled around buildings and zoomed past other cars on the street. The deed had been done, and as they fled, customers at Killinger's were choking and gagging. They had destroyed everything they could have, several thugs pocketing some cash from the registers for themselves, and topped it off by setting fire to several racks of clothes. It was a gala event for Scarecrow and Banshee. No policemen could stop them nor arrive in time, and the Batman was off-duty during daytime hours. Perfect. "No no it's fine." The Scarecrow reassured her, leaning towards a distant Banshee as he reached out and rested his hand on her shoulder. "Regardless, Dodge wouldn't have paid half of his dues at the docks, the greedy dog. We shall receive our payment Monday, as agreed." "Well . . . I supp-" A sudden turn caught Banshee off guard, and she slid so far on the smooth bench that she bumped right into Scarecrow's side. "-Oh!" He caught her shoulder to help support her and braced himself. "Careful." Looking down at her, he could quite clearly see that she was beyond mere shyness in keeping her head down and refusing to look into his eyes. Crane knew that she was definitely hiding something. Probably this unimportant matter that she had tried to tell him off the previous day. Today, he would have to ask her what it was. Then finally they felt the van slowly come to a halt in a shaded area - An alley near the house.
The driver came around to the back and opened up the doors, and held out a hand to help Banshee out after Scarecrow stepped out on his own. And no more than ten seconds after they had arrived, several figures emerged from around the opposite corner. "Ahh, so you are Dr. Crane!" Banshee immediately stepped behind Scarecrow and peered out past his arm, glaring at the unexpected Richard Dodge. She quietly whispered some inaudible gesture of dislike, to which Scarecrow had to smile about under the mask. Then he greeted his client. "Yes, Mr. Dodge. We spoke on the phone." He reached a hand back to Banshee and let his fingers trail across her arm as he walked forward, trying to calm her rage. He shook hands with Dodge. "I assume you've already gotten word of the job?" "Yes, yes! And I am very pleased, Doctor!" Dodge did seem quite cheery. In appreciation, his free hand had come to momentarily rest on Scarecrow's, shaking his hand several more times before letting go. "Killinger's will surely be out of commission for quite some time." Noticeably however, he then stepped off to the side and gazed upon Banshee, who by now had her arms crossed and was looking away in contempt. "Your female partner there is a great asset, Dr. Crane." Scarecrow, being more keen on human behavior than Dahlia, now understood how piggish Dodge was regarding the opposite sex. He definitely had a thing for her, someway, somehow - Lecher. It disgusted him. Well, he wouldn't get her. "I wonder . . ."
". . . I've trained her well, don't you agree?" Beneath the burlap sack, Crane was smiling deviously. "To be strong, assertive . . . She's a fine partner." Turning, Scarecrow sauntered back towards Banshee as he spoke. "But now, Mr. Dodge . . ." Once by her side, he turned to face Dodge once again, and rested his arm over her shoulders. He felt her muscles tighten, and felt her eyes watching him, but only kept his own on Dodge. ". . . We must be off. There are other matters of business to attend to." Just as he predicted, Dodge's subtle reaction mirrored that of a jealous high school teenager, boiling with rage inside. The muscles in his tan face tightened, forcing a smile as his eyes narrowed. "Yes. I won't take anymore of your time, Dr. Crane. I will pay you Monday, precisely at five o'clock in the afternoon." Once again, those lustful eyes trailed back to Banshee. Scarecrow felt her shift under his arm, then slip away. He heard the heels of her boots clack away on the concrete as she headed away towards the house.
Grasping the rope tied around the mask's neck, Crane pulled it up and off of his head. Then after brushing his hair back in place neatly and taking his glasses from his jacket pocket, he finished softly as the other thugs too began to head away, "Until then, Mr. Dodge." He took one last look at Dodge as he slipped the square frames onto his face, then turned and followed the group.
Once inside, the thugs went directly to the basement to get back to work as they were told. Crane entered last and locked the door behind him, seeing that Dahlia's porcelain mask had been placed on the side table near the door. He placed the scarecrow mask beside it, then headed out towards the living room to see that the girl had made herself at home, stretched out on her back on one of the sofas. "I hate that guy, I really do. Does he just have a knack for being creepy, or what?" Taking a seat at her side in the manner that one would for a sick hospital patient, Crane ignored her aloud thinking and cut right to his curiosity's demanding interrogation. "Dahlia." He said first, to get her attention. By now, she must have known that tone of voice well - Her alert black eyes stared at him. His voice though, changed to a softer, more quiet level, as to not rouse any immense nervousness. "You've had something on your mind since the other day." Her eyes glanced away. "I believe now is an opportune time to tell me." "Um . . . W-Well, I . . ." Turning her head away, she sighed. "I . . . I . . ."
Without even having the slightest clue as to what the issue may have been, Crane was already concerned. He leaned forward closer to her, his arm stretching out to rest on the back of the cough above her, closing her into an area where she couldn't avoid him. Hovering over her, he gently urged, "You can tell me anything, Dahlia. You should know that." But the words she would soon utter were anything but what he expected. As he felt her press herself back against the sofa, saw her lips begin to tremble as her eyes shone, she finally confessed in a wavering, fearful voice, "I m-m-met the Batman the other night, face to face." It didn't quite sink in at first however. Crane stayed over her, staring at her and dazing off into the growing worry of his mental thoughts. The Batman. He and Dahlia met, but what did that mean? He obviously found a cunning way to escape the bank vault, but what did he want with Dahlia now? What did he do to her? Did he knew who she really was now? Did he know who the Scarecrow really was? What was he planning next? But most importantly . . . What did she tell him?
And he wasn't hesitant to ask. Becoming conscious once again, his eyes intensified as they locked on to her. It was one of the rare moments when he seemed to take things in a completely serious, stern manner with her. "What did you tell him?" She must have felt like a prisoner, like an innocent person being tried for a crime they didn't commit. "Nothing! I didn't tell him anything at all, Jonathan!" The tears began to flow as Dahlia shook, becoming emotional in her defense. "He rescued me from kids at school who were going to beat me up, a-and h-he tried to get me to tell him about you and the heist, but I-I didn't tell him a damned thing! Not a thing, Jonathan, nothing!" The relief of her honest confession outweighed his guilt. Crane rested his hands at the sides of her arms, gently massaging them as he hushed her like one would a crying infant through her continuous rambling. Finally she became silent with her words, only quietly weeping as he continued to softly hush her. "Shhhh, sh sh sh . . . It's alright, it's alright. You've done nothing wrong."
"I'm sorry . . . I didn't mean to keep it a secret . . ." Dahlia propped herself up on one arm, closing her eyes, Crane guessed so that she felt more secure without having to look at him. ". . . I just didn't know how you'd react, and I was scared . . ." He continued to hush her, as he gently helped her to sit upright. "It's alright, Dahlia, calm down." Looping his arms under hers, he pulled her close to his body and embraced her, rubbing her back. He felt her muscles eventually cease their jerking from her sobs, and soon after, she fell completely silent, tightly hugging him back, her arms wrapped around his neck. He felt her quick breath slowly fade down to a steady rate.
It seemed that someone in the morbid city of Gotham was interested in her welfare. The Batman was quite aware of their situation - This noble knight would never succumb to using an innocent girl to get to a real criminal, that Crane was sure of. He must have been out to rescue Dahlia from the spider web that Crane had woven around her, for whatever reason. She was just one girl, after all. And what, he didn't have enough problems to attend to within the corrupt city?
No university bullies, nor Richard Dodge, nor the Batman would ever get their hands on her and rip her from his web. None of them, never. The Batman had to be destroyed, as soon as possible.
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Post by Murchadh on Sept 20, 2005 5:26:30 GMT -5
That was totally awesome! I love how you portrayed Crane in these chapters, he and Dahlia had fun at the movies ^_^, and he's being gentle with her, but she is definatly getting more strong willed and confident. Dodge is creepy....will he be making another apperence perhaps? Gas him gas him! *cough* sorry, got carried away , keep it coming when you can, please I love it *hugs*
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Post by latikono on Sept 20, 2005 17:27:08 GMT -5
(Chapter Nineteen: In Which He is All She Has
*hugs Murchadh back* Hee. You rock my socks.)
He was so warm and gentle. I've never been hugged like that before, at least outside the family . . . It's amazing that Jonathan was bullied. I can't believe he's still single . . .
Dahlia softly smiled to herself as she slowly tromped up the stairs of her apartment building, a passive sort of giddiness in her step. Every time she left Crane's house, every time she would walk home after spending time with him, she felt her cheeks burn hot with affection, her heart beat fast, and her mood wiped free of gloom and misery. It was hard for her to face the fact that she had feared him when he began to interrogate her - Did he really not trust her? And did she really not trust him? Crane wouldn't hurt her, she believed. He saved his wrath for villains, like the Batman, or the corrupt policemen and citizens of Gotham. There was no way in hell that he would lift a finger to harm her. Never.
"Dahlia?" As the goth girl looked up from her blank, dreamy gaze at the floor she stepped on, she spotted Linda standing outside the apartment door, apparently having just returned from some outside errand. But unlike other times when she was looked upon with scorn and irritation, Dahlia looked at her with curiosity and suspicion. Linda didn't look quite as drunk or snobbish as usual. Her eyes were wide, and she hurriedly approached Dahlia and grabbed onto her arm. "Lou, she's home!" "Ouch! Hey, stop it!" Dahlia tried to pull free from Linda's fake nails, but the aging women continued to drag her inside. And once shoved into the kitchen, the door was shut behind her and locked. "Dad? What's going on?" She felt her heart begin to speed up again.
"Dahlia?" Lou emerged from her bedroom . . . What had he been doing in there? Whereas Linda appeared looking high and mighty, Lou seemed to be hiding something in a similar manner to Dahlia's usual shyness. With his head down, stepping forward slowly, he began uneasily, "Uhhh, Dahlia . . . Listen, we need to have a serious chat." "Hm?" Did he find out about her underground affiliation, or . . . ? Well, he was a cop, after all! "What do you and Crane do all day and night? You've been spending an awful lot of time with him, your own college professor . . . Did you need extra tutoring?"
His last comment calmed then acceleration of Dahlia's pulse - He has just indirectly saved the girl a lot of explanations and lies. "Oh . . . ya. Ya, just tutoring, Dad. Nothing else." "Don't lie you little tramp!" Dahlia's head snapped back to see Linda lurking towards her like a hawk. "You were out past midnight several times, and what the hell do you think you're doing with his picture dead smack in the middle of your wall?" "Dahlia, don't lie to me." Lou began in, urged by the over reacting Linda. Dahlia snapped her head back forward to look at him, looking up to her tall father with scared eyes. From his pocket he took out the photograph Dahlia had taken of Crane several weeks before when she had first begun speaking with him. An unplanned reaction, her cheeks turned pink, which apparently gave Lou the wrong idea. "Dahlia, how could you? He's an adult, and you're still so young! You could be expelled for this!" "What?!" Not it was her turn to get angry. "Dad, do you think . . . Do you think that Jonathan and I . . . ?!" "Jonathan?" Lou barked back, eyebrows raised high on his wrinkled forehead. She felt stupid for not watching her mouth. "Jonathan?" "I meant Professor Crane . . ." "You're not to see him ever again. I'm pulling you out of his class and you're new curfew is nine." "What?! No!" In frustration, Dahlia stomped her foot onto the tile floor and glared up at him, her tongue sharp and consonants expressed hard with anger. "That's unfair! How the hell would you think that we-" "Gossip from your classmates goes around fast, Dahlia. Don't bother lying to me, because I have enough evidence and I know the truth. Don't you talk back to me young lady."
"I knew it. I knew from day one that you were hanging off of that boy." Lighting up a cigarette, Linda leaned over one of the nearby counters and rolled her eyes. "What did I tell you, Lou." Neither of them gave her the chance to explain. Why wouldn't Lou believe her? Because Linda was toying around with his head, of course. Sure, the circumstances seemed so obvious, but . . . no way, never would Dahlia do something like . . .
"Dahlia, just tell me the truth." Just about ready to weep for the second time that night, Dahlia felt her father's hands come to rest on her shoulders. He was shaking. She could tell he was trying to remain calm. "I want to hear the truth from your mouth. Please, just be honest with him." But she couldn't think, everything was whirling around her head before giving her time to sort out her thoughts. Thus, her explanation managed to make the situation far worse. ". . . I think I really love him, Dad, but . . ." She trailed off, interrupted by her father's sudden tightened grip on her shoulders, his head lowered as he muttered statements of disbelief. "I can't believe this . . . Why is this happening, where did I go wrong . . . I can't believe . . ." Trying to get him to listen, Dahlia spoke louder, ". . . but . . . but, I never slept with him . . . Dad, I never slept with him!" Her words fell upon def ears.
Linda came up from behind and pulled her away from Lou, who seemed to be having a breakdown of his own. With a tight grip on her wrist, she said with complete malice, "I figured yor father of all people would have raised you to be better than this, you little wh*re. You're never seeing that creep again." "Don't call him a creep." Dahlia's eyes shot up to Linda's with fire, like a predator stalking a wounded gazelle. "I'll call him whatever I want, Honey. Now get to your room to let us sort out your punishment, and don't come out until I-" "Screw you!" Finally finding her spine, Dahlia jerked free from Linda's grip and gave a hard shove. "I told you I never slept with him and it's true!" Trying to gauge Linda's trust-o-meter, Dahlia observed the woman's reactions to her word. She didn't say anything, probably very surprised from the sudden push - Linda made it a priority to never believe or listen to Dahlia, so she was a lost cause. But hopefully her father, whom she was stuck with all her life, had some compassion in him. Dahlia looked at him with a look begging for nothing but pity and understanding. "Don't you believe me?" Lou went and sat on the couch, still upset, holding his face in his hands, still muttering to himself. She glanced back to Linda. Back to Lou. To Linda.
A loud, aggravated moan forced its way out of Dahlia's throat, merging into a cry whose words were barely understandable, "I never had sex with him damn it!" She couldn't bear this place anymore. Home was where the heart was - That saying was printed somewhere in the kitchen or living room. One of those typical cottage door mats or something. However many times she heard it, it was completely true. Why stay someplace where she was unwanted, untrusted, and treated with the same disrespect as by her peers? This wasn't home anymore. Escaping Linda's stretched out claws, crying for her to return, Dahlia ran down the hallway with nothing but the clothes on her back, tears finally rolling past her cheeks as she made her way out of that building as if it were burning to the ground. She never looked back and never acknowledged those shouts for her to return. She only kept running, running, until she found herself stomping up the porch steps to that familiar neo-gothic house on the side street, the golden lights inside all too desirable, inviting her up.
As soon as that door opened, Dahlia flung herself into his arms, holding on to him as if the slightest breeze would whisk him away. She wanted nothing but to hang on to him forever and ever, nothing but to stay with him in his castle and be valued and treated like she was the queen of everything. That stray dog would never come back, she wished and wished - Only that pampered house cat would remain. Just that pampered house cat cherishing and worshipping its owner.
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Post by Murchadh on Sept 21, 2005 5:57:32 GMT -5
I can't beleive her dad would turn on her! Hows Crane going to react to this, and what dahlia going to do after she get over her sadness of the situation? OMG this is a sad chapter but I still love it, I hate Linda to by the way the evil women. Poor Dahlia *gives a huge hug* You rock too!
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Post by §ilvercell on Sept 21, 2005 7:41:13 GMT -5
Hang linda by her horns!
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Post by latikono on Sept 22, 2005 19:28:45 GMT -5
(Chapter Twenty: In Which Suspense Rises)
"No no no, don't beat yourself senseless, Dahlia," Crane said as he hung up his jacket in the walk-in closet, undoing his tie with one hand. "Let the events pass for now. Give yourself time to think about what happened. Often times the worst reactions emerge during this early stage, so you must skip by that to rational conclusions." It wasn't a lie that he did pity her. After all, one's home was thought of as a safe house - Psychologically, it was the only place where nothing could go wrong and where the rest of the world was unwelcome. Lou Rhodes and Linda Barker had quite ruined that for Dahlia, and it was no surprise that she fled and came to the only place she knew she could find some amount of safety. He did pity her . . . but the satisfactory thought of her now thinking his own home was her new safe house was far more exciting. Crane had her all to himself now. It seemed nothing stood in his way. The bedroom was quite dimly illuminated, mainly from the light of the closet, and from there Crane could make out Dahlia's curled position on his bed, a tissue in hand to wipe away her tears. She took in a deep breath and exhaled quietly, then asked with defeat, "Are you going to make me go back?" It felt good to be out of that suit again. Now in a comfortable silk knit tank top and lounge pants, all black, Crane exited the closet and flicked the light switch off, then wandered towards the bed. He took a seat beside Dahlia before he spoke, straight faced. "Not today, nor the next few days . . ." He paused a moment to see Dahlia's reaction, which was nothing past a disappointed sigh. ". . . Nor will I feed you some rubbish, such as 'You need to return home.' You're an adult, and I have no right to make you do anything." "You'll let me stay?" She slid her chin from her chest to look up towards him. Smiling, Crane leaned forward slightly and gently caressed her cheek, to which she responded with closing her eyes comfortably. "Of course, Dahlia." Lou probably would have slugged Crane in the cheek if he saw that move, then repeatedly bludgeon him over the head with a rubber mallet. It was ironic.
"Should you need anything, just ask. Try to sleep." Crane rose and headed for the double doors to the living room, turning and facing her with both hands rested on each doorknob. Lying where the man's silhouette was cast, Dahlia pulled the blanket up over her body and nodded, then weakly replied, "Okay . . . Thank you, Jonathan." Crane nodded before pulling the doors quietly shut.
The time was drawing ever so near to finally transform her from partner to lab rat. There had been quite enough hesitation, both from a busy schedule and his recent attachment to the sincere girl. Nothing of what one would expect between two humans, male and female - More like an owner to his pet, one-sided obsessive love and companionship, good for a fun day or a break from work, but nothing more to him. Pity he'd have to ruin her, but so far, his victims didn't stick around long enough for him to study and observe, to improve upon. The day after tomorrow was a Monday, back to the old grind. This would have to be done fast. After dealing with those obnoxious young adults, those sniveling professors and arrogant administrators, he made mental note to return home (he only assumed that Dahlia would not want to return to the University in this family crisis) and just go with it. Perhaps sedate her, then inject the toxin. If need be, wrestle her to the ground like he did when they first paired up. Whatever it took.
. . . But Crane was far too tired to be planning much out now. Dragging his feet on the carpet, he entered the study through the open doorway from the living room, shutting off the house lights as he went along. Once laying his sore eyes on the couch, he approached and took a seat in the same careful, gentlemanly way as usual, as if he were in the presence of company. Then pivoted on his hind quarters, drawings his legs up onto the pillows, and stretched out over the soft, cool material. He pulled a thick blanket over his slim frame, and promptly fell into a peaceful slumber.
~**~**~**~**~**~
A sharp, faint noise stirred Crane from his sleep, eyes lolling around until his blurry vision aimed out through the open doorway. He exhaled loudly, stretching his back and legs out as he did so. Glancing to the grandfather clock leaning against the opposite wall, he made out the face which read an early six o'clock. Then he glanced back to the doorway, vision clearing, as he awaited his disturber's voice once again to break the silence. For several seconds it didn't rise, so he stretched once more before turning his head to the side towards the couch and closing his eyes. It was too early to be paranoid, and he was too tired to care.
But just when he was about to slip back into his dreams, the noise roused again. It was Dahlia's soft voice, coming from the far end of the living room.
". . . is a thing I can rely on, Dad. And I can't believe you don't have any for me. What in our history makes you think I would do something like that?"
At first, Crane nearly had a heart attack thinking that Lou was in his home uninvited - That was the perfect way for any fool to get gassed. Flipping the blanket up and off of himself, he pivoted up into a seated position with his bare feet on the carpet, then marched right out to see what exactly was going on. Yes, it was Dahlia, but Lou wasn't there with her. She was facing the wall phone with the receiver to her ear hidden behind her messy hair, shoulder rested against the open arch that lead to the kitchen. Her head was kept low, shoulders sagging sadly. He continued to listen.
". . . You of all people shouldn't be asking me why I'm here. Where else did you expect me to go? . . . No! Dad, I didn't do anything and I haven't done anything! I just needed a place to stay, to be away from . . . Yes, I know . . ."
Crane continued to head for her, eyes narrowed suspiciously as he tried to make sense of the conversation and what Lou must have been saying.
". . . Jonathan- Ya, that's damn right, Jonathan. Jonathan respects me, Dad. He treats me like an adult, he's always around for me to talk to, and he cares about me. He takes care of me!"
The sudden shout from the other end of the phone were loud enough for Crane to barely make out. Dahlia pulled the receiver from her ear and let it slip to rest just below her collar bone, looking away and lightly sobbing, not wanting to listen to his anger. But she quickly took several breaths, avoiding sounding so broken up to her father no doubt. Lifting it back to her ear, she interrupted him as she raised her voice slightly, still keeping it quiet (she must have figured Crane was still asleep), "I'm not going home, if that's what you think all of your shouting is going to accomplish. I'm nineteen years old, and I'm old enough to get my own place and live on my own!" But such intense emotions caused her to accidently half scream, half cry, "I'm old enough to live on my own!"
It had gone on far enough. Crane quickly reached over her shoulder and snatched the phone away, balancing the broken down Dahlia with one hand around her upper arm as she tried to turn away, ready to drop on her knees in hysterics. He kept her near him however, holding her up against her will, as he lifted the receiver to his head, mounted proudly atop his upright neck. Her felt her arms wrap around his waist and felt her bury her face into his chest, forcing herself to stand with him. In a calm voice, he interrupted whatever it was that Lou may have been spurting, "Excuse me, sir. Mr. Lou Rhodes, I believe? Yes, this is Jonathan Crane."
Lou's voice suddenly shot back in a tone completely opposite to Crane's professional one, "Jonathan, Johnny, Jon-Jon, whatever. Listen to me you pervert. You lay one hand on my daughter and I'll turn you into mulch." Had they been speaking in person, Crane would have most loved to have tested his fear toxin on Lou right then and there. He was annoying enough as it was, and proved himself to be quite the nuisance, but once again, it was too early to be dealing with this. His impatience was hidden as he replied calmly, "Sir, I assure you, what your daughter has been trying to tell you is not false - Our relationship is strictly professional, and I have done nothing but provide her with the friendliness her peers at the university lack. This young woman approached me last night wanting nothing more than the comfort and assurance you seem to have deprived her of. Nothing more."
Silence. A soon broken silence, that gave the illusion of Lou actually paying attention to what it was that Crane and Dahlia were trying to say. Why was it so much easier to blame than believe? "Stop trying to feed me your bullsh*t, Crane! I want my daughter marched back home right now, and I never want you to see or so much as think about her again! Do you get me? Because if you ever-" It certainly had gone on far enough. Time to end this. "-It suddenly becomes so much clearer as to why Dahlia left you, Mr. Rhodes - No more than a month, and I've already surpassed the many years you've taken to disguise yourself as a loving father." A short pause. "Good day to you, Sir." He hung up.
Crane looked down to Dahlia, seeing her yet still cling to his waist like a frightened child would to their parent. Her sobs became less and less intense and emotional it seemed - Whether she was hiding the pain or was doing better at getting over her difficult times was undetermined by Crane. Probably the latter. Somehow . . . he felt disinclined to continue on with the plans he had made. Compassion, perhaps a little - After all, he had gone through many of the things she had when he was younger. Otherwise, he now felt that experimenting on her so soon would be a waste of time. Already it seemed she was living in a nightmare, the only apparent good thing at the time being her closeness to him. If he wanted to test the toxin, he'd rather have some fun and do it on a rat who lived a seemingly perfect, happy life, just to see what they truly feared, what could be a potential phobia, what was hidden beneath the stable demeanor. The time had once again grown inopportune. Oh well.
Until another day.
~**~**~**~**~**~
Monday morning, and Dahlia decided to stay at the house and help Crane's thugs out in the basement and with ordering supplies and other such needed tasks. Crane had a job to attend to, so left right on time with briefcase in hand. Nothing had changed of course - Why would it since last Friday? The kids were still screaming and acting like complete idiots, fellow professors stuck their noses up at Crane's presence, mumbling amongst themselves of one thing or another. He paid no attention, and just headed to his classroom to set up for the day's lesson.
It was quick and mild, but a chill had definitly run up Crane's spine. Through the window of the psychology classroom one could see the professor's desk. This morning, there was a stranger sitting there, a man in a suit shuffling through papers and organizing the desk drawers - It had been extreme fortune for Crane to have gathered all his chemicals and documents beforehand. The first thing that popped up into his head was that this man was a police officer under cover, either that or one of Richard Dodge's thugs under cover - He did say that he would pay up today.
" 'Scuse me, Professor." Crane looked to his side, seeing the principal of the school approaching. His deep eye sockets made him look like quite the mean one, but the glare in those dark brown hues were enough to rouse curiosity. "You and I need to talk." "Yes, Sir." Crane replied, only half hearing him. His eyes narrowed as he glanced to the door, keeping a light and calm mood about himself as he questioned aloud, "I assume this is about this unknown person milling about my-" "-You're fired."
The blue of Crane's eyes seemed to ice up as he gazed back at the principal, silent and eyes fully open with surprise. Perhaps his ears were fooling him. After all, the previous day had been quite stressful with nurturing Dahlia back to be her stronger self and with managing sending out orders for more chemicals and supplies. He'd better clarify. "Um . . ." He began, almost sarcastically, "Excuse me, but I must not have heard right . . ." "No, you heard just fine. You're fired, for breaking rule thirteen of the handbook. Your things have been delivered to your home, now I'll ask you to please leave campus and not return." ". . . No, Sir, you must be mistaken." Rule thirteen, what? Did this churl honestly expect Crane to bother memorizing some stupid set of childish rules? "What could I have possibly-" The principal, highly disgusted with Crane, lifted his palm and interrupted, "If you have any questions, consult Lou Rhodes, Dahlia Rhodes' father, because I'd rather not discuss the matter."
That chill suddenly came back with an extra kick.
"For the final time, leave, Crane, or else I'll send for someone to escort you."
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Post by Murchadh on Sept 23, 2005 5:37:34 GMT -5
OMG he got fired! Dahlia's father sure is out to get him, huh. Poor guy, and they didn't even do anything explict to warrent that! One more principal I can hate, Crane should gas the lot of them. Please add more soon, its so good!
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Post by §ilvercell on Sept 23, 2005 23:38:10 GMT -5
ottid!
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Post by §ilvercell on Sept 25, 2005 14:52:29 GMT -5
there are lots of medical ways to prove he did nothing mabey that will shut up her dad for good!
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Post by latikono on Sept 29, 2005 17:32:29 GMT -5
(I'm so sorry this is yet another half chapter. I've been so busy lately with school and I've had little time to really write or even think up ideas and such. I promise, *crosses fingers* I'll desperately try to get the entire chapter up tonight.
Chapter Twenty-One: In Which They Raid.)
It seemed like it had been many, many years since Dahlia had really taken the time to stop and observe her own home. Dusty smelling, and a mild fragrance of cleaning supplies, but only in the kitchen. Dark and often times humid, shadowy and with little vibrant color. Her bedroom always smelt like citrus or peppermint, from the wax candles high up on her dresser, and she made it a habit to clean up now and then so the floor was always spotless. She felt like a runaway returning home after being off on an adventure most of her life, revisiting the one place where one would think that they would be accepted. Of course, that wasn't the case. She knew very well that Lou wasn't home, probably out filing a missing report for her, and Linda was probably out drinking and gambling with her fellow fools. It was an opportune time to return to gather some belongings - Dahlia didn't plan on coming back anytime soon.
The black gym bag was stuffed full of her favorite books, some clothes, and all of her wall's photographs and her camera. They were packed in tightly, and the strap felt as though it would snap her shoulder bone, it was so heavy. As she trudged back to Crane's house that morning, she stared down at the single picture she had taken of Crane, rubbing its dented and worn out edges. Lou's oily fingerprints were all over the glossy print from the night before, so she rubbed them away with the material of her skirt. She only succeeded in shifting the tiny swirls and spirals into a one-directed smudge only caught by direct light. She'd have to take another one to replace this one.
What was it going to be like now? she wondered. Surely Crane wouldn't let her reside at his home for very long. He didn't have time to babysit her all the time, and she didn't have the strength to work as hard and as many nights in a row as he did. Get a job, find someone to share an apartment with, find a way to get a car and a job, make sure her father never found out where she was . . . What was school going to be like? Pah, that pondering was short lived - There wouldn't be any more classes for her. She had a good hunch she was already expelled. After all, her father did tend to act pretty irrationally when it came to these minor misunderstandings. A simple physical would prove that Crane hadn't put a finger on her, and vice versa. Would he listen to reason? Of course not. He was a flatfoot, one of the fuzz. It was about time Dahlia saw with unclouded eyes to what kind of police officer he was. The only thing worse than a corrupt Gotham policeman was an emotional Gotham policeman.
. . . Wait a minute, back up. If she was, indeed, expelled . . . what stopped the madness from spreading to Crane?
Upon opening the door to the house, Dahlia quickly jogged in and looked for him. He wasn't in the living room or the study, nor was he in what area of the kitchen and hallway she could see. First closing the front door, she dropped the heavy gym bag on the floor and went down the short hall to the master bedroom. Her quick heart beat settled as her relieved eyes found him stretched out on the bed, one hand resting behind his head, the other scratching at his exposed collar bone under his shirt. His jacket and tie were sloppily hung over the back of a nearby chair. It looked completely unlike him. "Jonathan?" Yes, he got the pink slip, just as she expected. "Dahlia, come here." It almost startled her, how not even two seconds after she entered, he had quickly pushed himself into an upright position and was looking at her directly, no humor left in his straight face. He perched himself off the side of the bed, holding out his hands for her to come. Nervous as usual, feeling as though she was about to get a spanking like a child, Dahlia slowly approached him. He was patient, only continued to hold out his still, steady hands, as her shaking ones reached out and very gently slipped into his fingers. Once close enough, Crane held her hands and pulled her close, looking up at her, holding her hands near his chest in a pleading manner. He softly massaged them, apparently trying to calm her nerves - He was good at that.
Crane spoke very lightly, different from how she figured he would have sounded. He touched on each word carefully, almost whispering, and was very delicate and flowing in his dialogue. "Dahlia, you did handle the meeting at the docks very well, and don't think otherwise. I need you to do this again. Another meeting. If all goes according to plan, Mr. Dodge will simply stop by, hand over his money, and leave. If you handle this just like you did the docks, everything will be fine, and it will be smooth sailing. Tonight, at six o'clock, and not one minute later." What he told her was completely different from what she had expected - A slap on the wrist, a scolding, and a request for her to leave his abode. That's what she figured. But no, he was just as compassionate as ever. It made her feel guilty. But to help relieve this guilt, she swore to do whatever it was that he asked of her, without question. She had to show him loyalty and devotion. ". . . Is Dodge all that reliable to show up?"
The following pause was awkwardly long. And after about twelve or thirteen fully excruciating seconds, Crane finally smiled. Standing up, he yet still held onto Dahlia's hands as he assumed an upright position, standing uncomfortably close to her, hovering about eight inches taller. "I'm glad you realize that. Should Dodge not show up at six o'clock or sooner, I'll have you and some men travel to his home and have a merry little raid. Take all you want, use the toxin, and leave no one sane." "Hm hm." Dahlia giggled with shut lips, finally smiling. "Sure. But, I have a question." "Yes, my dear?" Crane replied, lifting his chin slightly. "Where will you be during this meeting?"
"Ah . . . hm." Crane smiled again. "I have a few items of business that need attention, so I'll be away the rest of the afternoon and most of tonight." "This afternoon?" Dahlia quirked an eyebrow. Crane turned and let her hands slip from his as he headed back down the hall, Dahlia following closely as he answered. "The sooner I get started, the sooner I'll be finished. And I did hope to get these tasks done within one day." "What tasks?" "Nothing of importance, my dear."
At first Dahlia feared he was hiding some sort of animosity towards the school or her father, a quite reasonable fear at that. But she noticed that he had instead picked up the leather briefcase he used for work at the university, as opposed to the silver one she often found him with while they were masquerading as the Scarecrow and Banshee. It didn't take much thought for her suspicion to wither, so like the typical Fifties house wife, she saw him to the door and waved a farewell while he headed down that stone path to the street.
So, she was left to entertain herself in the Crane household. Dahlia didn't realize it yet, but evidently some workers had already arrived and were busy sending off shipments of orders and fear toxin in the basement and working with the chemicals to produce the poison. For about an hour or two, her boredom lugged her downstairs to assist in whatever way she could. It was actually quite a fascinating, educational process. Her newfound brothers seemed to accept her as well, joking with her and conversing as they went about their business. It was fun, enlightening. So after a while, she returned upstairs and milled about with nothing else to do. Sheryl cawed for attention, so for what seemed like another full hour, Dahlia stood by her perch, pampering her. A quick kitchen raid for lunch (Crane had such fine tastes in food for a guy with his salary), then Dahlia explored the study, scrolling across the book titles Crane kept on his shelves - The room wasn't particularly large, but just the sheer magnitude of the bookshelves made her feel as though she were in a library. And most all of them were of psychology topics of course. For as long as her boredom could stand it, she studied into emotions and subjects such as hatred, dementia, jealousy, inherited human folly, and love, ranging from crushes to a stalking obsession.
The clock sounded at six o'clock, summoning the evening, lifting her sagging eyes from the text. Time flew fast, and already, Dahlia realized that Richard Dodge had not appeared as Crane had said. A sort of miniature panic attack caused her muscles to have a sudden spasm, a quick exhaling of air through her nostrils forced out - Her mentor's instructions were clear and so simple that even an ape could follow them. But something in her gut told her that the future was going to look awfully messy. She didn't want to go through with this, but the thought of disappointing Crane scared her more.
Masked, gowned, and ready to go, Dahlia swung open the basement door and flicked the lights off and on to grab the thugs attention. Once each of their rusted eyes fell onto hers, she announced, somewhat softly as if fearing her lunch would fly out her throat, "Time to find Dodge, guys."
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