Utter silence was interrupted by the bubbling sound of boiling water followed by the gentle crash of steamy water into a cylinder, mingling with the brown powder worshipped by all of America.
It was three in the morning and Jonathan Crane was downstairs making a fatefully strong cup of joe. His pretty little assistant in crime and lover was completely fast asleep upstairs, hugging a pillow and laying on her left side, facing away from the door. As carefully as he could, Jonathan had peeled away from the bed and got dressed for work. Being a highly esteemed psychiatrist meant being available at any time of the day if a patient were to fall into distress, or worse, the whole of Arkham Asylum. A large percentage of the staff were completely clumsy despite their academic titles. Little problems happened all the time.
If Jonathan's life involved 'normal' hours of work and sleep, he would quite soon be easily bored. Although he was most definitely a planning man, he detested the aspect of a rigid repetitious schedule. The only perfection he ever desired was in his personal focused work on phobias and psychopharmacology.
The caffeine from the dark brew hit him instantly due to his stomach already being very empty.
I should eat something, Daria would be pleased... I'll wait till at Arkham. He thought to himself, thinking of how Daria would encourage him to discard all normalities and society driven schedules but would further encourage him to eat enough to function. It was the only thing she'd every 'tell' him to do without avail.
Because she cared.
Even as an esteemed psychiatrist, he didn't understand the rationality behind her caring.
Jonathan picked up his briefcase and grabbed his keys for the front door. He had a patient to silence. His lips curved into a smile as he assumed the role of Scarecrow.