07 ⚜ Text | ID: Scarecrow

[restingstitchface]

[Crane considers the test sample of the previous week. Saturday night at De Chima University. It was not the size of the group that had made his data bright with promise. It was the knowledge gained. How imPort and native alike fought and struggled against fear and panic. Learning that they chose to deliberately hurt each other, rather than accept either. It hastened his heartbeat with the thrill of discovery. Yes, discovery and the thrill of watching them tear themselves apart. Crushing them under his thumb and subjecting them to his power.

He wouldn't have ruled out striking another night, either. Most of the students were the typical kind; stay out late, drink hard, throw your lives out with the cigarettes and bottles. Not unlike the undergraduates of his youth, then. But there had been a point to terrorizing the swearing-in. Fear was not just about how many people he could hold under his thumb. It was about who. The people they were and the monster whose mantle he wore. That's the reason for his other name today.

There are no pleasantries. He doesn't say hello.]

How are you doing these days, imPorts?

I don't mean to disturb you, but I'm sure you're wondering if I'm guilty as accused.

You're wondering if truth avails, perhaps? You'll have to learn both the hard way, I'm afraid.

Whoever created that fog wanted you to see that your fears are hollow; shadows that dwell between the emotion and the response. They were simply trying to loosen you up a bit. That's my professional opinion. Still, how awful this treatment must have been for you all...

Now. I'm afraid I'm going to ask you some questions. All in the interests of science, of course! Tell me what you saw. Detail the nature of the thoughts that flooded your mind. Report the emotions you felt. I'm here to help.

[There's one other, final message.]

To those who spoke of pre-emptive action; I find you all hypocrites.

Life is about choices. You made yours when you chose not to say a word.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have work that must be done. Gotta earn my keep and all that.

Video;

[angelfire]

[ Are you all Craned out? After last night, dealing with the man himself, have you had quite enough of him thank you very much? Are you so psychologically drained, now, that you're more than capable of making questionable life choices? Well then, this wake up call is for you! ]

Good Morning, Vietnam!

[ The camera is way too close, handheld for once, meaning that there's no film crew in sight. Instead, as the camera is drawn away, there is the radiant vision of a ruffled looking Lucifer, his eyes bright, clad not in the silk trappings of his work clothes but a black T-shirt that says 'God's Bitch'. The T is a pitchfork, obviously, and the H has a tail. In any case, God's Bitch is sitting on a chunk of beachfront, pawing at the sand with his free hand while he considers his audience. ]

I mean--aren't you all such a lively bunch over this manhunt of yours. And with effectively no evidence either. That's what I love about you. There's always something. Someone has to go under the wheels of the machine to assert your need for revenge. So that you can come out on top. That's good, really. I mean, it's a party! I'll put out nibbles! Want to get even the most sinless of you blaspheming against God? Well that's easy: give you a righteous cause to fight for.

You know, Matthew was high on his own farts by Matthew 5, but you have to admit he had something with his bit about turning the other cheek. Personally I'll take all the bloodshed and petty infighting you have going, but you see, that's me, and I do enjoy it when you rip each other's throats out over less.

Now then, before you all accuse me of wasting your time with my fatuous oration, or whatever you kids say when you have to read or listen to more than a hundred and forty-four characters of text--

[ Suddenly the camera glitches horribly. There's electric fuzz all over the screen for a fraction of a second, and - without Lucifer seeming to move - the entire backdrop changes, presenting the inside of his church, lit magnificently by the morning light. The entire Atlantic ocean seems to be reflecting the rising sun in through its wall of white glass windows. Lucifer guides the camera around to show Jonathan Crane himself, sitting in the transept--or rather, they show a man who could be Crane sitting with his back to the camera, his cheek propped against his fist as he reads a book laid open in his lap. ]

The man of the hour himself. Now you see him--

[ Lucifer turns the camera back. ]

And now you don't. Here's the thing: the Church of the Morningstar, such as it is, is a Sanctuary. A sanctuary from persecution and false accusation, a sanctuary from the law. For as long as Doctor Crane - or anyone else similarly accused - chooses to remain here, he will be under the full power of my protection. Under this protection he cannot wield a weapon, nor can he break any further law under my roof, so in effect you're as safe from him as he is from you.

Come, if you wish, but know that any harm you attempt to do unto him will be returned unto you--which brings us back to our theme. "An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, a hand for a hand, a foot for a foot." Won't we all look foolish hopping around the place with one hand, one eye and no teeth? You have been warned. You can pay the accused a visit, but invade his sanctuary, and there will be Hell to pay. [ The 'Literally' goes unspoken. ]

[ Once more the camera spins around to Crane, at which point Lucifer instructs him to: ]

Give the nice people a wave, Jonathan.