Post by Dr. Jonathan Crane on Aug 13, 2009 6:38:37 GMT -5
JONATHAN CRANE
Nicknames: Johnny, Jon, Crane/Dr. Crane
Alias[es]: Scarecrow
Age: 32
Physical Appearance:
Doctor Crane is freakishly thin and lanky. He is very pale - which could be attributed to anemia (from malnourishment), or to his penchant for locking himself in his laboratory whittling away the hours with research. Or a combination of both. He has blue eyes hidden behind square, silver framed, glasses. He has shaggy brown hair that he keeps fashionably (though not on purpose) messy. He generally wears a dark fitted suit with tie, keeping up a very professional appearance.
As Scarecrow he still wears his suit, unless it is a planned occasion in which he wears a long, tan canvas duster so that he can store more toys. His mask is a tan burlap sack, with the eyes cut out... stitched together in various places with twine. The mouth is also stitched together with black embroidery floss. For added delight (for himself) it possesses a noose around the neck.
Distinguishing Marks:
No distinguishing marks
Played By: Cillian Murphy
Strengths:
Intellect - Of course he sees himself as simply the best when it comes to an intellectual standpoint. He has a several degrees in the medical field, after all. Eight years of med school has made him exceptionally ingenious. His mind works at a quick pace, leaving some unable to keep up. He uses this to his advantage whenever he is able, enjoying the blatant stupidity of ordinary, every day people.
Manipulation - He can easily manipulate others, as he knows exactly how to read facial expressions, movements and words (spoken and unspoken). He uses all to his advantage as well, twisting people's thoughts and words around as he sees fit. Jonathan revels in the art of manipulation, and always feels that he is in control.
Intimidation - Not so much as Doctor Crane. Jonathan Crane couldn't hurt a fly. However smug and sure of himself he seems on the outside, it's a cover for the scared eleven year old boy still locked somewhere inside that church. As Scarecrow it's a different story. Once the mask is pulled over his head and Jonathan withdraws, watching from somewhere within, Scarecrow terrorizes anyone that dares to confront him. He's learned, over the course of the years, the games that human beings play... and he doesn't care for those games one bit. He finds himself rather pleased when he's able to scare the living daylight out of someone who threatens his creator.
Weaknesses:
Birds (especially crows) - Crane has an aversion to birds, a fear that he can not overcome. In fact, he will go well out of his way to avoid them. Several encounters with aves over the years has increased this fear. And as irrational as he knows it is, it is not something he could ever easily overcome. He is intrigued by them (who isn't somewhat intrigued by their worst fear?), yet not so curious that he would go out of his way to get very close to one on purpose.
Linda - He continually feels the need to protect his assistant, Linda Friitawa. He recognizes that she, like himself, is a rather vulnerable target and falls prey to far too many situations. Jonathan will go out of his way to defend her, though he also tries to keep this fact hidden from her. He would rather her not know she is one of his own vulnerabilities.
Physical Strength - Or lack thereof. His scrawny build is one of a man who spends far too much time behind the desk or in his lab. He is unable to lift much more than his own weight without faltering. As weak as he sees himself he does not attempt to stand up for himself often.
Personality Traits:
Doctor Crane's personality is somewhat distant and erratic. His emotions are extremely dulled down but if you know what you are looking for he can actually be very expressive (in his own twisted way).
His quiet manner tends to unnerve most people. His indifferent words, marked with a clear lack of excitability, keep most people at arm's distance. He does not like physical contact, and shies away from human hands.
Doctor Crane is very apathetic. He can not identify with most human emotions. His empathy ran out a long time ago, and he doesn't bother pretending to possess compassion.
His voice is usually quite monotonous, and emits very little feeling. His sense of humor is morbid, though he finds it normal. Due to a traumatic childhood he is obsessed with fear and has a tendency to snap when pushed, becoming homicidal without a moment's notice. Humankind's lack of understanding sickens him and he feels that he should "enlighten" them in his own sadistic way.
Secret(s/)Motive(s): Jonathan wants to take over Arkham Asylum, so he is free to run his experiments how he likes.
Family Members: None
Partners: None
History:
Date: 31 October 2005
Case File: 76713130666
Patient name: Jonathan Crane
Physician name: J Arkham
Patient presents in Arkham infirmary with delusions this P.M., referring to himself as 'Scarecrow'. Recommend Fluphenazine - 15 mg PRN. Placed in solitary confinement with maximum security restraints.
I have called my colleagues so we can attempt to draw up a plan for Crane. He will spend this evening in solitary confinement. Tomorrow he will be moved to a more secure wing on the East side of the third floor.
Brief History of patient (Taken 02 January 2005) Patient's history can not be summed up briefly and there isn't a way around this.
I hired Jonathan Crane after receiving his resume in 2002, after he had graduated from Princeton with Honors. He had been the top of his class every year, making an impression on several institutions throughout the country. I'd had my eye on him since 1997 when a thesis of his made it to my desk. His interest in phobias and the effect of various drugs in relation to said phobias captured my attention. I was sure it was something we could incorporate and study in my institution. Crane was given a lab and full access to anything he needed under his internship with Arkham. I wrote off countless lethal experiments for him as needed, signed my named on hundreds of reports and death certificates. He was never blamed. No mention of his experiments ever made their way out of his lab or my office.
In early 2003 I received word that he was testing on himself, giving himself small doses of a new psychotropic hallucinogenic that he'd created. I warned him of the consequences of these actions and placed him on probation telling him that further self-medicating would be subject to my removing all access to him testing on my inpatients.
As far as I had known, Crane adhered to my rules for the time spent working at Arkham. Until 02 January 2005, when he was caught again. At that point he'd subjected himself to his toxin on such a frequent basis that he'd become dependent on it to function. Once the hallucinogenic was removed from his system, a process that took us ten days, he began to quickly deteriorate.
Crane spends his time in his cell, usually in a catatonic state. At this point we had left him without the need for restraints. However, it is assumed that he is delusional again.
Childhood of patient (Taken 12 January 2005) - The following has been notated by Sarah Price, M.D.
Jonathan was born to a poverty stricken Catholic mother, and was an only child. His mother, an overprotective young woman, was on a first name basis with the local child protective service's staff. Even at a young age Jonathan suffered from malnourishment. CPS have been documented to visit the Crane family at least once a month to ensure Jonathan was receiving adequate nourishment. The abuse he'd suffered at the hands of his mother went undocumented, though he attests to being beaten frequently. (Note: emergency room records confirm not documentation of physical abuse)
It was not until he started elementary school that the truth was exposed. As a punishment for misbehavior (which could be something as minute as not correctly reciting the Lord's Prayer) Jonathan was locked away in his room without meals - often missing a day or two at a time. After an investigation, due to his confiding in his first grade teacher, Jonathan was removed from his mothers' home and placed in the care of his maternal great-grandmother, also fervently religious.
School was another daily antagonist for Jonathan. As a result of his gangling stature he was often ridiculed by other children. One classmate in particular (Jayson Wellham)bullied him on a daily basis. School records indicate no involvement from his guardian - though there are a host of complaints made by Jonathan attesting to the harassment. (Note: Records checked by Sarah Price, M.D.)
Crane recalled one occasion, when he was eleven years of age, of being locked in an abandoned church for two days. This was a result of an incident when Jonathan found a deserted baby bird, and in an attempt to understand the biology of the creature, dissected it in his room. He was caught by his great-grandmother. In an effort to "teach him a lesson" she locked him in the rotting church infested with crows. (Note: Crane's focus here becomes lost. See addendum on page 3 - Note added 03 February 2006)
- Page 3
02 February 2006
Established history of Jonathan Crane's whereabouts and actions on 20 October 1988 via hypnosis. (Note: Confirmed with newspaper clipping. Record can be found regarding this incident in Polk County Register dated 20 October 1988.)
Transcript of session with Jonathan Crane as taken on 02 February 2006
"That church was musty. Very old and very musty. She'd driven by it several hundred times, always threatening to lock me in there should I err in judgment. There are no words to describe the first impression that it had on me when the heavy wooden doors closed behind me. I could smell the decay. There were gaps in the ceiling that opened up into the sky - allowing the weather to feast upon the church's innards. The carpet underfoot, if it could still be called carpet, was scattered with mold. The wooden pews had fallen prey to the rain, and stunk of mildew. The velvet padding on those pews was worn, some threadbare, and were covered in bird shit. It took my eyes a few minutes to adjust to the light. When they did all I could see was the murder of crows that surrounded me. I can still remember the feeling that sank to the pit of my stomach. I can still remember not being sure if I should scream for help. For the first time in my life I was genuinely frightened. There must have been a thousand beady, black eyes upon me.
She'd given me a burlap sack that I hadn't been allowed to open until I reached the inside of my prison. Inside that sack? A Bible. She wanted me to repent and save myself. I did save myself. Everyone knows that crows are attracted to shiny objects - so of course my eyes would have been a prime target. I used that burlap sack to cover my head, crawled under a pew, and listened to millions of crows' caws for two days.
When the church doors opened I was expecting my great-grandmother. Instead I was greeted by laughter. He was at that door, my secret revealed to the world. It didn't take him long to track me down - it wasn't that big of a church. I'd slipped out from underneath the pew when I heard him laughing and I'd tried to find a more suitable place to hide, but with those doors opened I was exposed, burlap sack and all. His taunting started immediately. The word 'scarecrow' echoed throughout the church... a new nickname to rip me apart and haunt me forever.
Through the rough weave of burlap I could see him coming towards me. I ran. I ran through the narrow aisles of the chapel, tripping over every object that could possibly be in my path. The birds around us squawked loudly, that sound reverberating in my ears. I made it down the front steps without falling - but the sweat under the hood made the scratchy cloth stick to my face, making it nearly impossible to see. I hit something in front of me and fell backwards. Slightly dazed I could feel my body being dragged. What little light that made it through my makeshift hood vanished. Too dark to see, too hot to breathe... I was sure I was close to blacking out when the hood was pulled off of my head.
He stood there leering, looking down at me with his piercing eyes. We were in some kind of outbuilding - I remember thinking it was the caretaker's shed - assuming that by the array of gardening tools that hung on the walls around us.
"Scarecrow," he taunted, "you fuckin' freak."
I'm not sure I responded, or if I did - I'm not sure what I said.
I watched him pull the burlap sack over his own head. Even through the thick cloth I was sure I could see that menacing grin slapped across his face.
"Scaaaaarecrow, scarecrooooow," he mocked, over and over. He looked absolutely ridiculous and I tried with great difficulty to suppress a laugh. But the faintest hint of amusement escaped me. It hit the air between us, and he stopped. I could see his face shift under the mask before he pulled it from his head. Though his attention was quickly distracted. Pendulously between us hung a huge wolf spider.
He screamed. Like a little girl. Am ear-piercing shrill noise that never seemed to end, before he stumbled backward and fell on one of the various garden tools carelessly left on the floor. I wasn't aware he was actually injured at that point. My victimized mind thought his shriek was another attempt at scaring me. But when I saw the blood begin to pool around his midsection, I knew.
The old pitchfork had torn its way through his back, and the rusted prongs jutted out of his stomach. He began to emanate god-awful sounds that sounded like a drowning pig struggling to catch its breath. I couldn't react quickly enough... my limbs seemed to not want to move.
"I'll go get help," I stuttered, stepping backwards towards the door.
"Fuck you, scarecrow,' he spat.
I pulled that sweat filled burlap back over my head. His eyes grew wide. He was still breathing, but his respiration had become much more shallow. I stared at him through different eyes behind that mask. The spider had finished its descent, its silken string ending near my foot. I bent down and scooped it up into my soiled fingers and brought it close to his face. He wanted to scream - and that fact delighted me to no end. He struggled against the pitchfork, yelping as the prongs plunged deeper into his chest. He shuddered, exhaling... his guttural breath sounding more and more shallow.
"He screams and he cries-"
Session ended due to patient's convulsions. Administered 20 mg Fluphenazine. Hypnosis no longer considered an option for treatment.
30 October 2006
Patient moved to the second floor. In twelve months time he has become a model patient. Removed restraints and taken off of 24 hour watch. Lowered dose of Fluphenazine to 5 mg PRN. He has not been subjected to medication in four weeks. Patient is coherent, and talks momentarily with staff when questioned. Patient has undergone group therapy sessions when requested.
15 November 2006
Patient missing. Not known if located upon grounds or if patient has escaped. Law enforcement has been notified. Consider highly dangerous, take extraordinary precautions upon sight, and use deadly force if the need arises.
Your Name: Joshua
Age: 26
Means of contact: nemothirteen@yahoo.com
Passphrase: Admin edit
Roleplay example:
He had been sitting for hours in his dimly lit lab, staring at the rats in their cages. No effect.... not yet, absolutely NOTHING! In fact the rodents' demeanor had seemed to improve. He looked over to Lin, who was looking troubled as usual... surely she would tell him he needed to eat or sleep again soon, but there was still so much work to be done.
"Perfect," he spoke with increasing frustration in his voice, "Some master of fear. I can't so much as scare a MOUSE!" He slammed his fist on the stainless steel table, causing his assistant to jump, and turned towards the doorway.
"I need some air, I'm going for a walk... to clear my head..."
She motioned as if to follow him.
"I would rather you'd stay, someone needs to look after the subjects while I'm out. Document any changes," he demanded as he threw off his lab coat, grabbed his briefcase and quietly closed the door. He made his way down the dank, dimly lit, passageway and to the elevator. This had been the cost of scientific greatness, having to work several floors below a mansion funded by an imbecile who had no idea of the true value of the experiments being performed. The elevator hummed when he pushed the button to call it to his floor. It was antiquated and in poor repair, so it took several minutes to reach him. Crane waited for what seemed like ages before it finally appeared. He slid the gate open, stepped aboard the rickety deathtrap, entered the required code and then selected the ground level. The elevator hummed and gears squealed... but none of this troubled him as it was not out of the ordinary.
Jonathon walked down the streets of Gotham. Even the nicer parts of town seemed in disarray and of ill-repair. He was almost asking for it walking these streets in such a nicely tailored suit, especially with such a sickly build. Of course he was always prepared for some stupid thug's lame attempt to scare him. In fact, some nights he counted on it.
"Give me the case, and yer wallet!" spoke a harsh voice from behind Crane.
"Oh, I don't think you'd like what is inside of this case. Not one..." Crane started to reply before being interrupted.
"I DIDN'T ASK YA WHAT I'D LIKE YA SACK-A-SHIT! JUST GIVE ME THE FUCKIN' CASE OR I'LL BLOW YER FUCKIN' BRAINS OUT!" the thug retorted.
"Very well," Crane replied, with a diluted sense of satisfaction in his voice, "but remember that I warned you." He turned, facing the man and handed over the case. Out of the corner of his eye he spied at least one more thug hiding in the shadows in the alley behind them.
"And yer wallet... NOW!" the man said angrily as he peered through a dingy black ski mask.
"Well, I keep that in my case, you see, but you are going to need a combination to open that. It is a very special case indeed," Crane replied.
The thug placed the gun against Crane's head and cocked the hammer back. "THE CODE NOW!" he demanded, his gun shaking with frustration.
"There is no need for all of this animosity... I'll give it to you. It's ten thirty-one," Jonathan explained. "Go ahead, open it."
The thug kept his gun against Crane's head but shifted his eyes down to the numbers on the case. Crane carefully and inconspicuously lowered a syringe full of Hydroxyzene (for use on such called for occasions) concealed within the sleeve of his suit coat.
"What's ta stop me from blowing yer brains out now smart guy!?" the thug replied grinning.
"Oh, well, yes you could do that, but what if I gave you the wrong combination? Then we will have had this pleasant midnight conversation all for nothing," Crane replied nonchalantly.
The other thug came out of the darkness, also in a black ski mask. Originality was obviously not their strong suit. This one brandished a knife with a ten-inch blade.
"I say we opens it boss... If da codes wrong den I slits dis smartguy's throat," suggested the man with the knife, creeping up behind Crane and putting the knife to his throat.
"Ten Thirty-one, likes Halloween. What are ya, some kinda freak?" the gunman asked as he turned his attention to the case. Each number clicked into place as it was selected. The gunman clicked the button to open the case and the lid sprang open, spraying a vapor into his eyes. The knife-man began to react and a small trickle of blood dripped from his victim's throat. Crane plunged the syringe containing the fast acting muscle relaxer, with a backwards thrust, into the knife-man's stomach. The blade fell from the victim's hand as he lost control of his muscles and fell to the ground.
The gunman dropped his gun and fell to his knees on the ground, rubbing his eyes... "IT BURNS, IT BURNS, WHAT DA FUCK IS DIS SHIT?! I'M GONNA KILLS YA, YA SON-OVA-BITCH!"
Crane walked over to his case and picked up his mask. "So much hostility, I really do suggest you see a psychiatrist. In fact both of you boys deserve a free consultation... I couldn't help but notice your masks. Would you like to see mine?"
