[The threat makes Crane tilt his head to the point it graces his shoulder. His blue eyes are the only part of him visible beneath the mask, their sharp and intense stare a sign of more than curiosity. He is perhaps the only other man who understands that particular threat is empty - though he recognises another threat waits in the wings. One that is as sharp and dangerous as the other is toothless.
But he knows when one focuses on an individual they risk losing sight of people as a whole. David has been isolated from the herd and is exhibiting the tendency to freeze in reponse to a threat. But he has spent more time with his men than anyone. He knows how each individual acts. He knows who will run - he can hear them breaking rank - and who will fight back.
It takes barely a second for the man he suspects to clip his lighter and cast it towards the stash piled on makeshift tables.
He begins stepping backwards. One foot after another. His head returns to its proper angle.]
The sun will never rise in Gotham. No matter how hard you try.
[Can anyone truly eradicate crime? Who will carry on that legacy? Crime has been around before either of them were born.]
[ He knows it. Gotham is built on perpetual cruelty. He's seen it enough to know it's seeped into her bones, it infects her people, it devours the unsuspecting. The sun could never pierce a shroud that deep and thick. It's why the Dark Knight exists at all. Because instead of trying to cast out the darkness, he embraces it. Takes it in. Let's it twist him into whatever he needs to be to keep people safe.
And right now, he's letting it turn him into a weapon of retribution. For every life stolen he wants one in return. Many years ago, he thought he did not have the right to make that decision. That if he had, he would not have been able to stop himself from executing judgement in his own image: cruel and unrelenting. Losing Dick made him see. None of it mattered. All of his efforts. None of it mattered.
When the lighter flies from the man's hand so does Bruce's sticky explosive striking his chest and exploding seconds later. He disarms two more in the chaos that follows. Then whips around for the Scarecrow. He wanted to take his head personally. ]
[Fight. Flight. Freeze. Crane knows every way each man responds. But as he processes the explosion - people scarpering or firing bullets - he experiences an unfamiliar rush. The rush of epinephrine that hastens his breathing. The spark of energy and curiosity. His body urges to surge forward and meet the challenge with one of his own. But his mind enforces a rigid control over his emotions; inflexible and ruthless in twisting him into who he thinks he needs to be.
Someone who stands his ground. Though his urge to flee is pulling one foot towards the backdoor, twisting his body into a strange position as he maintains his grip upon the detonator. He affects a casual stance by sliding his free hand into his pocket.]
Curious.
[Even now, his voice is thoughtful and reflective, rather than afraid.]
To have enough money to spare on all this.
[High-grade military equipment is not his field but he knows it is difficult to bring into your possession. Still, his mind is as swift to think as the bat is to take action. He has yet to realise the identity of the other man but he is beginning to follow the dots.]
[ The bullets don't scare him. They used to, when he was a little boy. He had nightmares about them and would curl up with Alfred until he was too exhausted not to sleep. Then he made himself not be afraid. Forced himself to listen to the pop they made when they left the muzzle of the gun. Forced himself to experiment with them when he was developing his suit so he'd know the right kind of weave he needed to make himself impenetrable. He wasn't afraid of bullets anymore. That's what the cape is for and as the guns around him begin to pop and spray them in wildly in his direction.
Bruce takes his time waits for the lull, small as it may be, and takes down two more. Broken arm for one. Shattered ankle for another. Crane is still here, Bruce can hear him speaking and he does not care that he seems to be putting two and two together. He didn't care at all. He smashes another of Scarecrow's men in the chest, explosive clinging to him and exploding as he yelled his protest. He closes the distance between them, reaches for Crane to haul him in close if his fingers can find purchase in the fabric of his clothes. ]
Tell me who you are!
[ he demands a second time. He wants a real name. Not this alias Crane's cooked up to hide behind (though the Batman certainly had no room to judge that.) ]
[Crane finds himself hoisted forward and hauled off his feet, toes barely scraping the floor. One would expect his eyes to look wide and alarmed, but nothing stands out except their coldness; a bright and enchanting shade of blue.
His head angles to his shoulder. His limbs relax and slacken. His hand refuses to drop the detonator. Fingers are still clawing into his clothing. He imagines them clawing into his chest, towards his heart. Imagines it because he cannot feel it. Throughout his youth, he had never suffered nightmares about bullets - he had endured reality and rocks that were hurled towards his head. But he remembers his eyes being opened - wider than they are now - and how pointless it had all felt.
Certainly, he had not begun delving into his work as a method to cope with all that. But at the same time he knows it to be true. He cannot ignore his own expertise when it comes to himself.
He lifts the detonator. Perhaps his nemesis notices, glances out the corner of his eye, or turns his head. Not that it especially matters. In his false life, he works for the university, for people undeserving of their power and status. During the night? Well...]
I only ever work for myself.
[That said, his free arm moves at speed. His wrist angles to activate a delivery mechanism hidden inside his sleeve - and sends a blast of gas straight into the Batman's face.]
[ He expects resistance. Because that is what experience taught him. They would always try to escape his grasp and they would pay for it. Broken limbs and fingers and toes. A sharp bite from the fins on his arms. It kept them in line, helped him dig out the information he needed. It made them afraid.
Crane isn't afraid. And as irritating as that would have been if it were anyone else, it is mostly a curious thing when it comes to this guy.
He's limp in Bruce's hands so it's his own strength holding him upright though Bruce is of a mind to let the other man greet the concrete under their feet face first. Around them, the fire is starting to spread. Bruce didn't have much time before the smoke would become overpowering.
He catches Crane's movement in his peripheral, the detonator but he knows better than to look. It's meant to distract him and Crane would talk or Bruce would squeeze the answers out of him. ]
You-
[ The rest withers, as Bruce inhales the gas unexpectedly. He coughs, shoves Crane away for distance. He coughs again and wheezes as he tries to clear it from his lungs. But it clings, clouds up his lungs and his vision. Retreat is always a last resort. Only if the situation was untenable. Only if he needed the space and the distance to regroup and find a new angle to attack from.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
But he knows when one focuses on an individual they risk losing sight of people as a whole. David has been isolated from the herd and is exhibiting the tendency to freeze in reponse to a threat. But he has spent more time with his men than anyone. He knows how each individual acts. He knows who will run - he can hear them breaking rank - and who will fight back.
It takes barely a second for the man he suspects to clip his lighter and cast it towards the stash piled on makeshift tables.
He begins stepping backwards. One foot after another. His head returns to its proper angle.]
The sun will never rise in Gotham. No matter how hard you try.
[Can anyone truly eradicate crime? Who will carry on that legacy? Crime has been around before either of them were born.]
no subject
And right now, he's letting it turn him into a weapon of retribution. For every life stolen he wants one in return. Many years ago, he thought he did not have the right to make that decision. That if he had, he would not have been able to stop himself from executing judgement in his own image: cruel and unrelenting. Losing Dick made him see. None of it mattered. All of his efforts. None of it mattered.
When the lighter flies from the man's hand so does Bruce's sticky explosive striking his chest and exploding seconds later. He disarms two more in the chaos that follows. Then whips around for the Scarecrow. He wanted to take his head personally. ]
no subject
Someone who stands his ground. Though his urge to flee is pulling one foot towards the backdoor, twisting his body into a strange position as he maintains his grip upon the detonator. He affects a casual stance by sliding his free hand into his pocket.]
Curious.
[Even now, his voice is thoughtful and reflective, rather than afraid.]
To have enough money to spare on all this.
[High-grade military equipment is not his field but he knows it is difficult to bring into your possession. Still, his mind is as swift to think as the bat is to take action. He has yet to realise the identity of the other man but he is beginning to follow the dots.]
no subject
Bruce takes his time waits for the lull, small as it may be, and takes down two more. Broken arm for one. Shattered ankle for another. Crane is still here, Bruce can hear him speaking and he does not care that he seems to be putting two and two together. He didn't care at all. He smashes another of Scarecrow's men in the chest, explosive clinging to him and exploding as he yelled his protest. He closes the distance between them, reaches for Crane to haul him in close if his fingers can find purchase in the fabric of his clothes. ]
Tell me who you are!
[ he demands a second time. He wants a real name. Not this alias Crane's cooked up to hide behind (though the Batman certainly had no room to judge that.) ]
Who are you working for?
no subject
His head angles to his shoulder. His limbs relax and slacken. His hand refuses to drop the detonator. Fingers are still clawing into his clothing. He imagines them clawing into his chest, towards his heart. Imagines it because he cannot feel it. Throughout his youth, he had never suffered nightmares about bullets - he had endured reality and rocks that were hurled towards his head. But he remembers his eyes being opened - wider than they are now - and how pointless it had all felt.
Certainly, he had not begun delving into his work as a method to cope with all that. But at the same time he knows it to be true. He cannot ignore his own expertise when it comes to himself.
He lifts the detonator. Perhaps his nemesis notices, glances out the corner of his eye, or turns his head. Not that it especially matters. In his false life, he works for the university, for people undeserving of their power and status. During the night? Well...]
I only ever work for myself.
[That said, his free arm moves at speed. His wrist angles to activate a delivery mechanism hidden inside his sleeve - and sends a blast of gas straight into the Batman's face.]
no subject
Crane isn't afraid. And as irritating as that would have been if it were anyone else, it is mostly a curious thing when it comes to this guy.
He's limp in Bruce's hands so it's his own strength holding him upright though Bruce is of a mind to let the other man greet the concrete under their feet face first. Around them, the fire is starting to spread. Bruce didn't have much time before the smoke would become overpowering.
He catches Crane's movement in his peripheral, the detonator but he knows better than to look. It's meant to distract him and Crane would talk or Bruce would squeeze the answers out of him. ]
You-
[ The rest withers, as Bruce inhales the gas unexpectedly. He coughs, shoves Crane away for distance. He coughs again and wheezes as he tries to clear it from his lungs. But it clings, clouds up his lungs and his vision. Retreat is always a last resort. Only if the situation was untenable. Only if he needed the space and the distance to regroup and find a new angle to attack from.
Tonight, the Batman would retreat. ]