[ No, and Bruce can sense it in that quiet and cold distance. The spectacle of being in Bruce Wayne's company is a novelty to most. It can propel them into a higher social standing. Have them rubbing elbows with Gotham's elite. Which, admittedly, is why some people ever bother to speak with him, hoping the right person might see and change their lives.
For someone like Crane, Bruce imagines that kind of social currency is as useless to him as it is to Bruce.
Bruce imagines Crane is after the harder, analytical gaze of the Batman. And he did not need to ask for it. It's already on him. ]
I wouldn't dream of it, Doctor. I know your time is valuable and so is your research.
[ The smile returns. But there's nothing amused about it. It's almost a challenge, a scalpel pressing against the layers of this interaction. A way to say I know what you are. ]
[Crane elevates his chin; indicating an alert and proud mind arrogant towards others. But those standards of body language were invented by others. His gesture affords this man beneath the mask his attention - and by irony his time. There is nothing and everything personal about it. He categorises using the same methods, treating this man and his responses as data. But he files his results in a separate pile.
This is personal work to enjoy in private.
He loses his smile, allowing it to sink into the depths. He forgoes his humourous demeanour, his light of curiosity. But that remains, shining in the abyss. A lure to some. A warning to others.]
Of course it is. That's why I'm here, exchanging pleasantries.
[There's nothing amusing in his tone. There's nothing at all.]
[ What do you do with the ones who aren't afraid? It's a question that's burns him because he cannot fathom an answer for it. Or rather, he hadn't wanted to give it words. Not until Joker had unraveled his beautiful lie, exposed all of its flaws and touched the raw nerve underneath. Crane isn't afraid. That same stillness. That same absence.
Bruce could see it. And he did not like it. ]
You'll have to show me what you're researching sometime, Doctor.
[ His hands slide into his pockets, casual. Calm. Deceptive. ]
I research cutting-edge medication for severe psychiatric illness.
[Crane keeps his tone polite and amicable. The decision to accept funding had not been his decision - and he did not like it. But he understood how to transform it into a resource. Now they have no excuse not to discuss work. It had also surprised his colleagues, who fought every financial year for a slice of the piece. That alone would have been worth the cost to most.
But he is unlike most capable of controlling his urge to indulge in trivialities.]
Which you already know. Otherwise you wouldn't have offered funding, would you?
[ He did know. And it's part of the reason he thinks this newcomer in town might be the same standing in front of him. Scarecrow required a knowledge of chemistry. More than a working knowledge. More than some disgruntled intern looking to make a quick buck with designer drugs. There's a motive behind Scarecrow's movements. More than Maroni or Falcone would put into an operation like his.
Scarecrow didn't strike Bruce as someone who cared for taking orders at any rate. Maybe out of self preservation, but he'd have himself a contingency. A way out. An exit strategy if he's ever cornered. ]
I don't always know what my advisors put my money toward. Too busy for those kind of questions.
[ He grins at a pretty woman that walks by and waves when she looks back over her shoulder at him. ]
I'll tell you a secret, Dr. Crane, half the time I don't write my speeches.
Please. Half of the time I don't write my lectures.
[The comment is at odds with the mask he presents to the world; an amiable but serious academic who is proud of his work. But it is a mask woven from truth. He revers his work and respects it so deeply that he could speak on length without notes or slides.
His eyes do not follow to that woman. They remain on Bruce like he is a bug beneath a scalpal.]
You don't know what your money goes towards. But you know it's going to me. Not too busy to know about that, I guess.
[ That's easy to believe. Especially if what Bruce suspects about Jonathan Crane is true. He's brilliant. Formidably so. Obsessively well read. Precise. The kind of mind that didn't need notes to reconstruct his own vision of a nightmare. He'd memorize every variable, internalize every reaction. Know them so well that adapting them for any given situation would be almost effortless.
A man bound by strict formulas and meticulous documentation would not last. Too rigid. Too slow. Someone like that would not have been able to stay ahead of the bat for as long as Scarecrow has. They key has always been adaptability. You would need it for the kind of life Gotham forced her citizens to live.
He knows Crane is watching him, dissecting him with that scalpel-sharp gaze of his and he does not flinch. He's a man in the spotlight. Scrutiny is part of the package. He swipes another drink from a passing waiter, and lifts the glass to the woman across the room with a smile, measured and smooth. ]
Well, I do still sign the checks, believe it or not.
[ He's breaking his rule. And consumes that fourth drink. Alfred will chide him for it later. ]
[There is some reason this man is drinking. They understand each other more than they did a few months ago. They understand what alcohol can do. They realise the delicacy of their situation, here in this party full of people neither of them care for, yet care for because of different reasons. One defends the lives they lead. The other would see them destroyed when necessary. Not for the sake of chaos but curiosity. He will experiment. His opponent will devise an antidote. He will adapt. Such is life in this city.
Bruce masks himself with effusive displays of emotion; smiles, bravado and calmness. But he shares nothing and does nothing except slide his hands in his pockets. There could be anything there. There could also be nothing.]
But do you check the signs?
[Wordplay. Something associated more with one mask than the other.]
[ The reason Bruce drinks are many. To be social. To set a target at ease, let them think he's just like them when he's anything but. Because an 8 year old once swore to abolish all crime in Gotham. Because he's seen how far humanity can fall. Felt losses no one should endure. Carries a weight no one else should ever have to shoulder.
Most of the time, he drinks so he can sleep for those few precious minutes without seeing Dick's face or his mother dead in a gutter, her pearls scattered all around her.
It's all easy to hide behind his bravado and a glass of wine. Crane, he thinks, doesn't bother to hide at all. ]
Always.
[ He offers him another half smile, less billionaire playboy. More calculating and forward. ]
Well, I already know that's true: people dislike acknowledging what lies under their nose.
[Crane barely tilts his head in response. He neither meets the challenge nor retreats. Acknowledgement. Insecurity. This man is free to read either; to observe his lips pursing in consideration. His lukewarm voice reveals nothing beneath the surface.
People are never hard to miss.
He is not amiable to hide from barbed tongue and critical eyes; he enjoys snaring somebody with his presence, knowing they cannot do anything to stop him.]
Mind your own business. Look the other way. Gotham is hardly subtle.
[ It's information to stow away. Nothing significant on its own, but it helps to form a fuller picture. Helps Bruce to see how Crane and this Scarecrow might interconnect. Helps him to see where the threads forming the web begin and end so he doesn't get tangled up in them. Crane broadcasts nothing because most people do not know what to look for. Bruce likes to think he does. He likes to think he's interacted enough, seen enough, heard enough to put all of the pieces where they fit.
Or maybe he's just paranoid. Seeing patterns where there were none. People are never hard to miss. But they are easy to misjudge. ]
[Cage. Prison. Hospital. Asylum. There is nothing and everything to assume in his choice of word. Perhaps he is simply crafting a new conversation, craving communication with somebody capable of meeting him at his level.]
Perhaps you're just assuming the wrong kind of input when it comes to promping specifi behaviour.
[ The look on Bruce's face is inscrutable. Cold, calculating. Then it smooths into something closer to human. An easy smile and a sparkle in his eye. You'd be forgiven for thinking there was never anything wrong in Bruce Wayne's world. ]
Maybe I am. But that's a little too much thinking for me tonight, Doc.
[ He peeks over the Doctor's shoulder, at a woman eying him from across the room. He winks. ]
[Crane mirrors that cold and calculating look. But his refuses to smooth into something closer to human - though his smile and eyes are bright with life. It is not a good life he is satisfied with but the promise of an exciting future.
Development. Discovery. Denouement.]
We all have fun in different ways, Bruce.
[His lukewarm and neutral voice echoes easily from beneath the mask. But he is ready to progress from this conversation, this occasion, to somewhere he has less need to be subtle.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
For someone like Crane, Bruce imagines that kind of social currency is as useless to him as it is to Bruce.
Bruce imagines Crane is after the harder, analytical gaze of the Batman. And he did not need to ask for it. It's already on him. ]
I wouldn't dream of it, Doctor. I know your time is valuable and so is your research.
[ The smile returns. But there's nothing amused about it. It's almost a challenge, a scalpel pressing against the layers of this interaction. A way to say I know what you are. ]
no subject
This is personal work to enjoy in private.
He loses his smile, allowing it to sink into the depths. He forgoes his humourous demeanour, his light of curiosity. But that remains, shining in the abyss. A lure to some. A warning to others.]
Of course it is. That's why I'm here, exchanging pleasantries.
[There's nothing amusing in his tone. There's nothing at all.]
no subject
Bruce could see it. And he did not like it. ]
You'll have to show me what you're researching sometime, Doctor.
[ His hands slide into his pockets, casual. Calm. Deceptive. ]
I'd like to know what my money is funding.
no subject
[Crane keeps his tone polite and amicable. The decision to accept funding had not been his decision - and he did not like it. But he understood how to transform it into a resource. Now they have no excuse not to discuss work. It had also surprised his colleagues, who fought every financial year for a slice of the piece. That alone would have been worth the cost to most.
But he is unlike most capable of controlling his urge to indulge in trivialities.]
Which you already know. Otherwise you wouldn't have offered funding, would you?
no subject
Scarecrow didn't strike Bruce as someone who cared for taking orders at any rate. Maybe out of self preservation, but he'd have himself a contingency. A way out. An exit strategy if he's ever cornered. ]
I don't always know what my advisors put my money toward. Too busy for those kind of questions.
[ He grins at a pretty woman that walks by and waves when she looks back over her shoulder at him. ]
I'll tell you a secret, Dr. Crane, half the time I don't write my speeches.
no subject
[The comment is at odds with the mask he presents to the world; an amiable but serious academic who is proud of his work. But it is a mask woven from truth. He revers his work and respects it so deeply that he could speak on length without notes or slides.
His eyes do not follow to that woman. They remain on Bruce like he is a bug beneath a scalpal.]
You don't know what your money goes towards. But you know it's going to me. Not too busy to know about that, I guess.
[He can't help himself. It's fun.]
no subject
A man bound by strict formulas and meticulous documentation would not last. Too rigid. Too slow. Someone like that would not have been able to stay ahead of the bat for as long as Scarecrow has. They key has always been adaptability. You would need it for the kind of life Gotham forced her citizens to live.
He knows Crane is watching him, dissecting him with that scalpel-sharp gaze of his and he does not flinch. He's a man in the spotlight. Scrutiny is part of the package. He swipes another drink from a passing waiter, and lifts the glass to the woman across the room with a smile, measured and smooth. ]
Well, I do still sign the checks, believe it or not.
[ He's breaking his rule. And consumes that fourth drink. Alfred will chide him for it later. ]
no subject
Bruce masks himself with effusive displays of emotion; smiles, bravado and calmness. But he shares nothing and does nothing except slide his hands in his pockets. There could be anything there. There could also be nothing.]
But do you check the signs?
[Wordplay. Something associated more with one mask than the other.]
no subject
Most of the time, he drinks so he can sleep for those few precious minutes without seeing Dick's face or his mother dead in a gutter, her pearls scattered all around her.
It's all easy to hide behind his bravado and a glass of wine. Crane, he thinks, doesn't bother to hide at all. ]
Always.
[ He offers him another half smile, less billionaire playboy. More calculating and forward. ]
Sometimes they're hard to miss.
no subject
[Crane barely tilts his head in response. He neither meets the challenge nor retreats. Acknowledgement. Insecurity. This man is free to read either; to observe his lips pursing in consideration. His lukewarm voice reveals nothing beneath the surface.
People are never hard to miss.
He is not amiable to hide from barbed tongue and critical eyes; he enjoys snaring somebody with his presence, knowing they
cannot do anything to stop him.]
Mind your own business. Look the other way. Gotham is hardly subtle.
[But it is afraid.]
no subject
Or maybe he's just paranoid. Seeing patterns where there were none. People are never hard to miss. But they are easy to misjudge. ]
Gotham is not subtle. But she is crafty.
no subject
[Cage. Prison. Hospital. Asylum. There is nothing and everything to assume in his choice of word. Perhaps he is simply crafting a new conversation, craving communication with somebody capable of meeting him at his level.]
Perhaps you're just assuming the wrong kind of input when it comes to promping specifi behaviour.
no subject
Maybe I am. But that's a little too much thinking for me tonight, Doc.
[ He peeks over the Doctor's shoulder, at a woman eying him from across the room. He winks. ]
Loosen up some. You'll have a bit more fun, eh?
no subject
Development. Discovery. Denouement.]
We all have fun in different ways, Bruce.
[His lukewarm and neutral voice echoes easily from beneath the mask. But he is ready to progress from this conversation, this occasion, to somewhere he has less need to be subtle.]