a dance of doves & crows ( jonathan crane )

introductions and investigations.

content warning : graphic-ish descriptions of wounds , mentions of murder (very brief!)

song of the chapter: ( don't fear ) the reaper - blue oyster cult

1:00 PM With Julia Lovecraft.

Doctor Crane's glance to his calendar reminded him; pulling him out of the depths of his previous work. It was Tuesday - a notoriously busy day for him, and it looked like he wouldn't have a minute to breathe.

He was very okay with that.

A glance at his watch told him he had to hurry ; setting down his pen and safely stashing away his other work in the locked bottom cabinet of his desk. Sure, no one had any reason to go into his office in the first place, but... Better safe than sorry. It never hurt to be a little paranoid, considering the circumstances.

With a fast pace, he made it to the designated room he would meet his new patient in, nodding to no one but Doctor Harleen Quinzel.

---

His new patient was no doubt drugged, large blue eyes glassy and unfocused as she was ushered into the room by the orderlies. This was expected for newcomers, especially ones as threatening as her files described her to be.

However, the man could help but doubt the sight in front of him. Mistakes this big weren't made in the system, but why would they make such a big fuss over her?

She was probably the least threatening person he had ever come across in the asylum. Short, with a soft body and young face. Long, light blonde (it had to be bleached or something, right?) was braided back behind her, but quite a few tendrils fell free.

She - Ms. Lovecraft, he recalled from the calendar - was the closest he had ever seen to a real Disney princess. How she managed to pull off what she did... He could only guess. She could've easily been in one of those god-awful live action remakes of a 20 year old cartoon. What had happened for her to snap to this degree?

The question - Her mind. Why, How, If she did it before... He'd know soon enough. His file on her would be extensive. He'd soon know more about her than she did.

"Good morning, Ms. Lovecraft, please... take a seat."

He politely spoke, gesturing to the chair in front of him. These were only introductory sessions -- taking place in an interrogation room before moving into his office. As protocol demands, he had to see if she was stable enough to handle unsupervised therapy, or if she was even ready to be in the presence of other patients.

Internally, Scarecrow eagerly awaited dissecting her fragile psyche.

She didn't respond, only shuffle forward and sit into the chair he wished her to.

The woman looked even more defenseless now ; small in her chair, held securely in a straight-jacket, with dark circles under a captivating gaze. A healing bruise - turned yellow and green, in a day or so it would be gone - sat on her right cheek. On the same side of her face, what looked like healing scrapes littered her jaw and up to the right ear.

Wounds like that were typically found in a car crash, yet nothing said as such in her current - very barren - file. No one had reported an accident like that.

He adjusted his folders, tapping them against the table before he turned his attention back to the young woman, analyzing her through his glasses.