*spaz* I didn't sleep. Batman!
Jul. 13th, 2005 06:12 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
themeletorOk so FINALLY my Crane muse decided to pity me and give me what I'd been wanting to write since I first saw the movie...
though since he is such a sick, twisted bastard he didn't give it to me until about 4:30 this morning. And even though it was great, spastic fun to write, it does also serve the purpose of reminding me to appreciate nice, tame, daylight-hours commodorial muses.
ANYhow.
The first is suitable for mostly general audiences; the second is rather not. Both call for spoiler shoo-offs from here down. Exercise self-control, as always.
-------
If this were to be placed chronologically, it would slightly overlap Fascination V, which is right as Crane gets gassed.
To say that Crane didn’t know what his toxin could do to a man would have been a glaring lie. He had spent long nights cataloguing and perfecting his dark, chemical glory. He knew its mannerisms like a mother knows her child, a man his lover, an artist his art. He could say, precisely, to the second, the path his innovation ran through a victim’s mind and body. He had watched it happen, again and again, and swelled with pride to see it.
To say that he was prepared for its effect on him, though, would be just as much an untruth. The good doctor, puffed up with hubris and like to drunk on the thick wine of validation, saw a list of psychosomatic details sprawled across his desk, walls, small table, and the foot of his bed. He saw chemical compounds, textbook hormones, the beginnings of research papers, grant opportunities. He saw things that would crack a weaker mind than his.
He did not see the puff of gas before he sucked it in.
-------
-------
And now the bit I've been meaning to -- oh shit my nose just started bleeding -- been meaning to write this whole time.
Dr. Jonathan Crane had always appreciated terror from the outside. A sharp, shattering beauty with tentacles that pried and crushed, she brought to him the most feared of men, on their knees and shaking, broken. And her attack, he had learned, was a marvelous thing to behold.
He had not also thought it would be marvelous to receive.
The gas burned deep into his lungs, and where it bled out in fiery trails he could feel every sense awakening. A crisp heat gripped him, coupled with a muzzy desperation. His heart tripped over itself racing, and the blood it flung forth made his arteries vibrate. He shook in a way that only he could see, provided he closed his eyes. He squeezed them shut, but a black hand twisted in his hair and wrenched them open. His vision blurred and crossed, and still while dodging seemed to catch upon that monstrous mask before him. He could hear the panic rushing past his ears, cavorting with the pain that buzzed in his scalp. It nearly drowned out the furious growl from the floating demon-head in his tunneled vision.
“Ra’s al Ghul.”
It was a true answer, and shorter and more likely to be accepted than, the good of science and society, or, myself and my starved, bloated ego. Crane didn’t know why it should make the throbbing fire boring into his skull flare up, or a vise come forth to crush his jaw. The demon was hissing and spitting, and its lip was bleeding in on itself.
Chattering ice slid through his veins; dry flame licked up his shoulders, his forehead, his chest, his fingertips. A warm, thick, leaden wire danced in his gut beneath clenching lungs and a frenzied heart. His eyes opened wide, and his mouth dropped slack, and he suddenly wanted to kiss those viscous, hemorrhaging lips.
“Doctor Crane’s not here right now…”
-------
I feel so culminated. Now I get to post these outside my personal (i.e. at![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
wayne_crane, therein breaking my shameful lurkdom) and head off to work!
...As soon as this nasal niagra gets straightened out, that is.
(p.s. is it fair for Random Recurring Nosebleed Week and my period to happen at the same time? I thought not.)
Oh, please alert me to any spelling shit-ups and so forth, because my own brain can't really do that right now.
though since he is such a sick, twisted bastard he didn't give it to me until about 4:30 this morning. And even though it was great, spastic fun to write, it does also serve the purpose of reminding me to appreciate nice, tame, daylight-hours commodorial muses.
ANYhow.
The first is suitable for mostly general audiences; the second is rather not. Both call for spoiler shoo-offs from here down. Exercise self-control, as always.
-------
If this were to be placed chronologically, it would slightly overlap Fascination V, which is right as Crane gets gassed.
To say that Crane didn’t know what his toxin could do to a man would have been a glaring lie. He had spent long nights cataloguing and perfecting his dark, chemical glory. He knew its mannerisms like a mother knows her child, a man his lover, an artist his art. He could say, precisely, to the second, the path his innovation ran through a victim’s mind and body. He had watched it happen, again and again, and swelled with pride to see it.
To say that he was prepared for its effect on him, though, would be just as much an untruth. The good doctor, puffed up with hubris and like to drunk on the thick wine of validation, saw a list of psychosomatic details sprawled across his desk, walls, small table, and the foot of his bed. He saw chemical compounds, textbook hormones, the beginnings of research papers, grant opportunities. He saw things that would crack a weaker mind than his.
He did not see the puff of gas before he sucked it in.
-------
-------
And now the bit I've been meaning to -- oh shit my nose just started bleeding -- been meaning to write this whole time.
Dr. Jonathan Crane had always appreciated terror from the outside. A sharp, shattering beauty with tentacles that pried and crushed, she brought to him the most feared of men, on their knees and shaking, broken. And her attack, he had learned, was a marvelous thing to behold.
He had not also thought it would be marvelous to receive.
The gas burned deep into his lungs, and where it bled out in fiery trails he could feel every sense awakening. A crisp heat gripped him, coupled with a muzzy desperation. His heart tripped over itself racing, and the blood it flung forth made his arteries vibrate. He shook in a way that only he could see, provided he closed his eyes. He squeezed them shut, but a black hand twisted in his hair and wrenched them open. His vision blurred and crossed, and still while dodging seemed to catch upon that monstrous mask before him. He could hear the panic rushing past his ears, cavorting with the pain that buzzed in his scalp. It nearly drowned out the furious growl from the floating demon-head in his tunneled vision.
“Ra’s al Ghul.”
It was a true answer, and shorter and more likely to be accepted than, the good of science and society, or, myself and my starved, bloated ego. Crane didn’t know why it should make the throbbing fire boring into his skull flare up, or a vise come forth to crush his jaw. The demon was hissing and spitting, and its lip was bleeding in on itself.
Chattering ice slid through his veins; dry flame licked up his shoulders, his forehead, his chest, his fingertips. A warm, thick, leaden wire danced in his gut beneath clenching lungs and a frenzied heart. His eyes opened wide, and his mouth dropped slack, and he suddenly wanted to kiss those viscous, hemorrhaging lips.
“Doctor Crane’s not here right now…”
-------
I feel so culminated. Now I get to post these outside my personal (i.e. at
wayne_crane, therein breaking my shameful lurkdom) and head off to work! ...As soon as this nasal niagra gets straightened out, that is.
(p.s. is it fair for Random Recurring Nosebleed Week and my period to happen at the same time? I thought not.)
Oh, please alert me to any spelling shit-ups and so forth, because my own brain can't really do that right now.
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(no subject)
Date: 2005-07-13 02:00 pm (UTC)