maskormenace | 001: first prayer, voice-video

001: first prayer, voice-video

"If thou be the Son of God, cast thyself down from hence: For it is written, He shall give his angels charge over thee, to keep thee: And in their hands they shall bear thee up, lest at any time thou dash thy foot against a stone." Poor baby.

The prophets wrote that Jesus, having resurrected, first presented himself to Mary Magdalene, who did not recognize him. Well, that's a classical telling. 'The women' is a more accurate translation. So I did that. They had cookies. [ A thoughtful clucking sound is attached to the disassociated voice. ] Then he came down upon his disciples, and broke bread with them. Would you be surprised to know just how many Satanists there are in Florida? They were very accommodating.

[ The camera is turned upwards. Here, at last, is an (unfortunately) familiar face for those who have been here for a while. Lucifer doesn't look like much otherwise, just another steely eyed, rough featured imPort making his introductions. There are wounds healing on his - admittedly pale - face that look like they might have been some kind of deep tissue radiation burn. Still, he doesn't seem to be in any pain--he looks kind of cheerful. ]

I really don't know what I did to deserve a military escort, but I'm more than happy to know that I've engendered such respect in the human population here. Well--respect; fear; one is so very much like the other.

Now then, why don't we start with some introductions. [ He tapped his lip with one finger, considering where to start. ] I have a number of names, most largely unnecessary, but Lucifer will do. For the uneducated amongst you, that means I'm an archangel. For the heathens--well, sucks to be you; you have fun with that. [ The amusement is clear in the crinkles about his eyes. ] Furthermore, I'm delighted to announce that very soon I'll be usurping the airtime of a televangelist near you. Television exposure, a sponsorship from DRV Games, the adoration of my fans-- [ He drawls, it's difficult to tell whether or not he's being sarcastic: ] It's like a dream come true.

Oh, and Dean? Hello darling. Let's have a little chat, shall we? Happy belated Easter, chickens.

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[Crane's reaction is only slightly more telling; his brow quirks, so slightly that it's gone if you're not looking. He tilts his head and presses his lips together. Otherwise, the only show of thoughtfulness shows in his thumbs, which rub together behind his back.

There's no response to that sharp gaze. It doesn't frighten him. It's not relevant to his goal. Lucifer's approval doesn't matter to him, either; he hadn't sought it and he didn't want it - and it wasn't relevant. Lucifer providing the logistical support he needs? That's relevant. Distribution was the sort of menial work that he hated.

This was the perfect opportunity. The perfect opportunity. He's been holding it in for so long. Everyone here was hiding their fears on the inside. But he could see them! See what all these piglets were hiding within. He was always watching. Always waiting. Always needing to make everyone here see there was always more to fear.

His gaze slides towards Lucifer. There's a small gleam in his eye.]

Excellent. That's just what I need.

[He wonders how he'll do it. The water supply? Too old a trick.]

Of course. The delivery method dictates the... consistency... of the product. Still. I expect I won't have to call when my assets are available?

The Devil may be in the details, but I really could care less. You'll be ready when you're ready, and I will find a way to assist in my own way. You can rely on that.

[ His attention stayed on Crane none the less. Nothing else ever occupied his attention. The room didn't matter, and its occupant was only relevant through association--Lucifer could take him or leave him, there were always other human souls who needed very little pushing to reach their full potential.

But some had more potential than others. Some corruption just went that deep. ]

The question only remains, what can you do for me? I'm sure there's something.

[ He tapped his arm. ]

Oh, that's right. Would you like to guess what it is?

[To seal the deal?

Crane's attention remains on Lucifer. He's not a religious man. There's no soul within him to give. He expects there's whispers at home that he's done the devil's work, anyway. He's also used to asking these sorts of questions of his patients - and here he's been asking people the same thing. Leading them. Getting them to open up about themselves. To learn what they wanted. What they feared. What made them tick.

And really, he doesn't care about doing anything for anyone. The devil's seen the man he is. And Crane is the sort of man who does what he wants, all for one single obsession.]

Not really. I don't care.

[As long as it was relevant to his work, and a favorable risk and not a gamble, he'd consider it.]

Of course you don't, and it's fortunate that I don't ask for much, isn't it? Because I could ask for so much. Your soul, your body.

[ But Crane didn't rule out anything. He didn't care. It was the equivalent of his saying 'name your price', and of course he had no fear of the consequences of doing so. His eyes flickered just a little brighter, and he stepped toward Crane, reaching out to smooth out his suit. There wasn't really anything to smooth. Jonathan Crane was pristine on the outside; that was how he performed his magic trick.

He chose to explain himself. Crane would understand the scale of his proposal. ]

Access to your patients. Your work and mine interlocks. You want to expose their fears--where better to start than in their dreams. Me; I'm looking for impact, for coverage; for people just like you with the potential to do great things.

You'll give them to me, when the time comes, and you won't regret it. I know you want to see their potential too. Put them to sleep, say a little prayer, and I'll show you what I can really do.

[Curiosity.

It's the only emotion Crane feels. He doesn't care about the quasi-potential of losing his body or soul; those threats aren't relevant. He even feels a mild curiosity of sitting back and watching the devil at work. Perhaps he may visit Georgia, for a start.

He doesn't flinch at the contact. He even smiles a little - it's like being touched by something who knows exactly what he is and what he can do. Another archetypal force. And he's already learned one of his greatest lessons listening to Bruce Wayne, who'd shown him the way. This was the opportunity he needed to put that to the test. He wanted to learn. He wanted to observe.

The need to pray? He wouldn't be praying at all. He would just be making a silent phone call. One that wouldn't leave evidence.

And the final thing Crane didn't care for? Every other person. Every. Single. One. They were just currency.]

Well. I'm afraid to say that's a generous offer.

[One he's obviously accepted. It made good business sense. There were plenty of ways he could get his anxious patients to sleep. Anti-anxiety sleeping aids, for a start. Perhaps gentle, conversational talk that would make them fall asleep on his couch.]

Now. I suppose I should ask whether the devil prefers quality or quantity.

[ Even Gabriel flinched under his touch. It was interesting to meet something that was at once so fearless, but didn't coo and flirt with him either, the way his Flock did. He withdrew his hands, and replaced them in his pockets, cocking his head at the answer. It was more than a generous offer. It was asking for one thing, and providing twice as much benefit for the price of one little request. Where could he go wrong? Few people would be offered such a good deal for their cooperation.

Of course Lucifer enjoyed the chase too. Corruption could be too easy. ]

If you only suppose, then don't bother. You can decide for yourself.

[ He offered his hand toward Crane. ]

Some of my servants favor a kiss to seal their deals. I don't. But my handshake will leave you with a contract just the same.

[Crane had always decided for himself - his revenge on his peers, for instance, had been a deliberated and carefully planned event - and at the end of it he'd been delighted to discover he could frighten people to death. The power had been satisfying. He'd never regretted it, and had turned his fear against his great-grandmother, freeing himself from servitude.

Really, he's never served anyone. He's associated with them. Made business deals. His eyes run from Lucifer's hand up to his shoulder and face. Of course the devil wouldn't offer a deal where he would't come out a winner. But at the moment, the offer was relevant to his research and he was bold enough to take the risk. For in order to inflict fear, one first had to learn how to allay it.

That assurance comes out in the firmness of his handshake. Fearless. Strong-willed.

A left-handed handshake, even. He thought the symbolism amusing. But then there's something sharp and painful under the surface. A sting of injury along the upper-middle bone of his middle finger. He half-closes his eyes and grits his teeth. He doesn't groan. He doesn't complain. He is less willing, however, to keep silent about it. What was that? He needs to know.]

Well. Well. Well. [He says, somewhat slower than normal. He's balancing the sharp sting against his current condition.] What did you do?

[ It isn't bravery. Lucifer notices the tension, but that's only because he held on a little tighter to ensure that Crane didn't jerk his wrist and get himself hurt in the process. He kept hold when he was done, to answer the question. ]

Oh, it's nothing. I just signed on the dotted line. My commitment to your cause, in writing.

[ And sure enough, that was what he'd done: he'd left a mark there, not on the skin, not even underneath it, but on one of the fingerbones of Crane's left hand, where only an X-Ray could pick it up; his own sigil and seal, like a signature, where noone else would think to put one. He ran his thumb across the spot, so that the symbol brightened through the flesh, glowing bright enough to see, and drew his hand away so that Crane could watch as it faded. ]

I protect my assets, Jonathan, where it serves us both for me to do so.

[Crane doesn't really look offended - he accepts what's happened as fact, and fixes his eyes on the glowing symbol. This land is a strange land; its strangeness is its charm. It would not be a great leap of logic to consider it a puzzle to solve. He clasps his hands behind his back again, and slightly tilts his head, a curious look to his eyes.

His eyes flicker down and he indulges in a tiny, excited smile. Everyone here were such cowardly, superstitious lambs. Too frightened to grasp opportunity. The Devil terrifies them. He reminds each and every human of the fate that awaits them all, at the end of the day. One can only speed them along to face that reckoning, the more and quicker the better. With the Devil flying free on Hell's on Earth, he could truly watch this become a land without hope.]

Assets. Plural. The devil makes word for idle hands, isn't that the saying? So it seems you've been quite busy, already.

[He says observantly. Digest the word and it's news, then gone.]

I admit, when life brought me to this place, I hadn't considered it was planning to turn my body into a walking receipt.

Edited 2015-04-15 10:48 (UTC)

[ He tipped his head appreciatively. It meant that Crane was watching him work, paying attention--he'd undoubtedly learn something, if not from him then from the crop, but that wasn't really his concern. It was good to be idolized a little now and again, respected. Some people didn't see what was right in front of their eyes, but they'd learn their mistake in time, or at the end of their time, whichever was sooner, and Lucifer didn't particularly care whether or not they believed in between.

But he did like to be appreciated now and again, even if it was just a human, and the most grievous kind of sinner, at that, doing the appreciating.

Crane wanted an explanation; that could only be expected, from his type. ]

Angels don't exist only on the physical plane. We move through all Creation, as God does. Your flesh, such as it is, is just Creation - an illusion - and the mark I made, as you see it, as you feel it, is only allegorical; the real inscription is on your soul, which moves through Creation itself in a vessel of God's making, nothing more.

[ Aren't you glad you took the red pill? ]

[Crane's hands slide in his pockets. He slightly tucks in his chin and suddenly looks quite boyish - it's a face of innocence, but also a face that shows those who know him that he's honestly enjoying himself. Most people can enjoy themselves by playing with anything. But Crane has specific needs and only loves one thing in his life.

His research. He can't remove that excited smile from his face, when his head lifts. Watching this happen would take it to a whole other level. Into another dimension, like how this receipt had been made - in a way that other human minds wouldn't be able to understand. Except Batman. Oh, he'd have to show him what he's learning. Show him that he's always learning.]

So you're in my thoughts and emotions, then. The seat of my personality. Or perhaps something more. Well. I'm sorry to disappoint you, but today wouldn't be the first day someone's told me the devil dwells there.

[He points at his head with a finger and says nothing else about his great-grandmother, and lifts his hands to smooth out his suit. Then he grabs his briefcase, sitting on his desk, and flicks it open. Out comes a small aerosol. It's in his left hand. His right holds a burlap sack of cloth.]

I made them myself. [He moves the mask down and nods to it, gesturing there with his left hand.] It's amazing how people project their fears onto a blank slate. They'll beat the walls and huddle in corners, and raise their hands over their heads. They'll wrap their arms around themselves and cry. They'll wail and they'll scream. They'll rock back and forth and beg it to stop. [Ugh. Begging. How contemptible.] It's a fascinating study.

[Clearly, he loves his experiments. And the best thing was this was now ready to frighten someone who was like him. Who performed their tricks on the human mind. What would frighten him? He has to wonder.]

[ Lucifer approached, curiously. Moment of truth, and Crane was excited to show it to him, like a child showing off their science fair experiment with bright eager eyes and almost-trembling excitement in their hands. How had God ever loved these things more than he cared for his angels, Lucifer didn't know; His are mysterious ways.

So he approached with his own muted curiosity. The burlap sack and what it represented, that inner scrap of Crane's psyche that still somehow needed to separate himself from the sin, through whatever thin veil of reassurance he gave himself that the reason was anything other. It protected him by projecting itself on others, but it was still sin, and it always would be. A whore was still a whore when she went home to her children, and Crane was still the Scarecrow when he tucked himself into bed at night.

Just as God had made him.

He raised his right hand, opening it toward Crane. A request without express direction. Crane had two hands, two items--which could he bear to relinquish, if any at all? ]

May I?

[Crane's reaction is muted; he tilts his head, looks down and slightly furrows his brow. The mask had been with him a long time, yes, but that's because it isn't just a cowl of burlap and straw and stitches, with metal pipes and breathing apparatus. It's an image in his head; the memory of that scarecrow in the Keeny Manor cornfield - and the anticipation of what he would unleash on everyone here.

Their greatest fears. There's no need to tie himself down now that he knows it's the person underneath the mask who controls the fear, he realizes. He doesn't care to be constrained by physicality or temporal rules. His identity is more than a name and face.

He lays the mask on the table for Lucifer to inspect. A little bit of himself. Not another side to be hidden in public.]

Try not to ruin the apparatus. I need it for my experiments.

[It was a powerful tool for inflicting fear. But still, it felt intimate. Special.]

[ His reaction was slight surprise, a quirk of his eyebrows, a touch of sarcasm: ]

I'll do my best.

[ Because his intention was to be anything but irreverent of Crane's possessions. Certainly they were only human creations, but how could he blame him for wanting to twist such a thing into a form of power? Corrupt it into a manifestation of fear itself. Lucifer had done much the same thing, when he'd taken the first of God's creations and manipulated them to his own ends, twisting up their purpose into something more sinister. Crane was, if anything, only demonstrating how much like him he was. A little devil in him.

He was very gentle. He gathered the burlap sack up, caressed it with his thumb as though touching skin, slid his hand inside to feel out its innards, almost intimately. There was something almost sexual about the whole display, and when he laid the mask back down on the table, he gave it one last gentle pat, as though to say 'you did good', before turning back toward its owner.

Down to business. ]

What would you need to diversify your delivery methods?

[Intimacy. Sexuality. Crane feels mildly satisfied by both, but he keeps a tight control on his emotions; he focuses intently on what Lucifer's doing to his mask, his other face, opening his mouth slightly when the bigger devil slides his hand inside and investigates its innards with his fingertips. From the sackcloth to the piping, every single stitch, every single touch is so important because someone understands him.

A large breath of air, because though some call him a devil, Crane within his skin is still quite human. It's a mortal failing, and he's aware; he can be cut, he can be bled and he can be killed. Not that it worries him. He'd just become a glorious martyr to his cause. His entire body relaxes, and he leans into his chair and balances his chin on his fist to watch the rest of the encounter.

His satisfaction is a result of more than sexual lust and base motivations; it's acceptance, yes, but he's never really cared for anyone's acceptance in his life, and won't start now. What he feels is resonance.

His brow furrows at the question, and he decides at that moment.]

I require advance knowledge and foresight. Time, one might say.

[He scratches his chin.]

I am more than capable of creating my drug in liquid, gas and solid states. But what I cannot create is misfortune out of chance. I want you to help me make Hell on Earth.

[He leans back in his chair. He doesn't want to be dependent on Walt, either.]

Of course. I am also seeking alternate means of acquiring base materials. A place to work... And people I can use that don't actually think.

It doesn't work that way, Jonathan. You will help me to bring Hell to Earth; in return, you get to come along for the ride, and perhaps I may even help you to become more than a man, inside and out; a thing of such power that even the bravest of men will tremble to behold you.

[ Perhaps he couldn't make demons here, perhaps the promise was empty, but he hadn't tested it yet. It took more than a word here or there to poison a human soul, even one so corrupted as Crane's already was.

He sniffed, and then smiled, and his seriousness shook away. He pulled himself up to sit on the desk in front of Crane, leaning slightly over the desk toward him, a picture of casual ease. Really, he wasn't any kind of traditional picture of the devil. No pointed beard, no horns and tail, no golden curls, no suit and cane. Just a thirty-something dirty blond man with five o'clock shadow. Here sat Lucifer himself on Jonathan Crane's desk.

He crossed his legs, and swung one idly. ]

I have an abundance of the unthinking at my disposal. My Flock have been awaiting my return for some time, and they're more than willing to further the cause. Your cause. Tell me the skills you need, and I'll find you your tributes.

Humanity is dependent on so much, Jonathan. The things they put into their bodies, spray on them, inject into them. The possibilities are endless.

[Crane shrugs and lets the issue go away, for it makes no difference who brings Hell to Earth - his work will carry on regardless. He takes back his things and locks them away in his briefcase. It and his unremarkable suit give nobody cause to focus on anything. There's nothing remarkable under his surface; he's just a doctor who enjoys his work and sometimes works too much. He's not a man with a masked identity who believes his work is to hunt people down.

He's a man with a masked identity who believes his work is to spread fear. He's the gatekeeper of fear, at the very least. A being who enjoys daring people to cross the line and uses their fear to satisfy his own needs. It's also true that if they won't go through the door, he'll just push them right through it.

He pushes his suitcase aside. To understand fear, one had to learn how to control it and utelize it as a weapon. They had to become a symbol, a whole new archetype; Batman and he were regarded more as monsters than men of blood and flesh.

They had become more than human in the eyes of life's great design. It was a taste of power he was eager to keep. He didn't even want to become a thing, not really. He wanted to become fear itself.

Contrary to the difference in preternatural power between them, the power of his mind was such a thing that it was already working on what he needed.]

My requirements are people who can follow instructions, who don't choose to act on initiative. That would be a start. [A pause.] People who go unseen and unheard, who will take the fall so I can carry on working.

[Cut off the finger, rather than lose the hand.]

I want people who can do the menial work. Muscle. Drivers. Pharmaceutical distributors who can dispense or acquire what I require. I can manage the ideas and designs. [There's a longer pause.] Some interns in my clinic will be a good start. Some in the pharmacy I visit, should it prove tenable. I need eyes on the owner there. [Then a short pause.] I guess the health warnings were right - smoking kills.

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001: first prayer, voice-video

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