Post by Scarecrow on Jun 21, 2006 21:02:00 GMT -5
Where is she? What have you done with her? Out with it! TELL ME![/i]
The voices... they betray me. They... His hand swept across the table infront of him, freeing it of what contents had been there. ... Why won't they cease? He... torments me. The Bat---I AM-- The Batman... They hadn't ceased. The voices. They echoed in his mind, overlapping one another to tear and rip at what sanity he had left. Jonathan Crane, now deceased, leaving behind only an empty shell, that which had been stuffed with straw and toxins to manipulate the mind. "You thought you had put an end to my actions, Batma--" It flashed before his eyes. That spectre which ripped and tore at his eyes. Its eyes inflamed with rage, boring into his very being.
He staggered, landing once more on both heels, the palm of his left hand resting on the table's surface, He will never stop me. Never can an eternal being such as the Scarecrow be stopped. Once more, each eye opened to an immensely wide diameter, as he stared at nothing at all. I can't stop you, Crane? Wanna' bet on it?[/b] "NO! STOP! QUIET!" He fell to his knees, fingers in his hair while his lips curled upward in a frown. They... They... I AM VENGEANCE! "AHHH!" His eyes clenched shut, staring at the inside of his eyelids for remorse. "Stop... Just... Sto--" Tears dampened his cheeks, stinging each optic as the lids rose to let his eyes view the world once more.
What he first saw, what was first within his vision, lain upon the floor before his cradled hands, his voice a hoarse whisper as the laugh echoed in his throat. A burlap sack, stitched together and filled with straw to accent each eye. He opened the backing, and slid it over his head - his voice becoming slightly dryer due to clinging onto the fabric - each venomous word spilling from the twisted mouth. An eye slid around the room, looking for what he had no clue he had in his hand, but it wouldn't matter as he had been permanently affected by the toxin. It was a mere weapon - no, tool - now, the appearance of his own mask being warped for himself within the broken shard of glass to the left of his form.
"Heh... Hehahah... HAHAH..." HAHAHA! Do not fear, Jonathan Crane. No. The voices can no longer find you, not where you are. The voice. It was haunting, but he could trust it. Yes, it comforted him. In his mind, he would be locked into that padded room. Once more, a strait-jacket within Arkham Asylum, safe from fear. "That is right, Batman. There's nothing to fear, but fear itself... Other than that whom controls it. Where you run, where you hide, I will be." Yes... There will be... The Master of Fear, Scarecrow.
The voices... they betray me. They... His hand swept across the table infront of him, freeing it of what contents had been there. ... Why won't they cease? He... torments me. The Bat---I AM-- The Batman... They hadn't ceased. The voices. They echoed in his mind, overlapping one another to tear and rip at what sanity he had left. Jonathan Crane, now deceased, leaving behind only an empty shell, that which had been stuffed with straw and toxins to manipulate the mind. "You thought you had put an end to my actions, Batma--" It flashed before his eyes. That spectre which ripped and tore at his eyes. Its eyes inflamed with rage, boring into his very being.
He staggered, landing once more on both heels, the palm of his left hand resting on the table's surface, He will never stop me. Never can an eternal being such as the Scarecrow be stopped. Once more, each eye opened to an immensely wide diameter, as he stared at nothing at all. I can't stop you, Crane? Wanna' bet on it?[/b] "NO! STOP! QUIET!" He fell to his knees, fingers in his hair while his lips curled upward in a frown. They... They... I AM VENGEANCE! "AHHH!" His eyes clenched shut, staring at the inside of his eyelids for remorse. "Stop... Just... Sto--" Tears dampened his cheeks, stinging each optic as the lids rose to let his eyes view the world once more.
What he first saw, what was first within his vision, lain upon the floor before his cradled hands, his voice a hoarse whisper as the laugh echoed in his throat. A burlap sack, stitched together and filled with straw to accent each eye. He opened the backing, and slid it over his head - his voice becoming slightly dryer due to clinging onto the fabric - each venomous word spilling from the twisted mouth. An eye slid around the room, looking for what he had no clue he had in his hand, but it wouldn't matter as he had been permanently affected by the toxin. It was a mere weapon - no, tool - now, the appearance of his own mask being warped for himself within the broken shard of glass to the left of his form.
"Heh... Hehahah... HAHAH..." HAHAHA! Do not fear, Jonathan Crane. No. The voices can no longer find you, not where you are. The voice. It was haunting, but he could trust it. Yes, it comforted him. In his mind, he would be locked into that padded room. Once more, a strait-jacket within Arkham Asylum, safe from fear. "That is right, Batman. There's nothing to fear, but fear itself... Other than that whom controls it. Where you run, where you hide, I will be." Yes... There will be... The Master of Fear, Scarecrow.
