In Arkham Asylum, the arrival of a new patient was generally accompanied by a great deal of excitement. More often than not they had been on the front of every newspaper that had realised that costumed crime sells. Unaccustomed to the amount of force the orderlies were happy to use, many at least resisted the attempts to introduce them to their new residence, if not actually fight tooth and claw against the men manhandling them. Such fights invariably ended with the unfortunate newcomer getting tranquilized, spending the next few days confined to their cell while the more seasoned patients gossiped about them.
So it came as a surprise to everyone when one morning a thin, forty-something man with glasses was sat in the recreation room quietly doing a Sudoku, with no fuss last night to indicate his arrival. He might as well have just popped into existence. But since opportunities for gossip cropped up relatively rarely in the asylum/jail house, the patients currently being held were unwilling to pass it up.
Absorbed in his puzzle, the man jumped visibly when a woman slid next to him, oozing sexual confidence. He looked up into a face unlike any other he'd ever seen in person, but like any Gotham resident was very familiar with. He realised now that the photos in the newspapers didn't do her vivid green complexion justice, or her eye-watering mass of red curls. Gîte was familiar with people's tendency to call anyone with even the slightest copper tinge to their hair 'red', but in this case no other adjective would suffice. Neither could a newspaper portray the alluring and yet wholly overwhelming scent that wafted from her, superficially sweet but with a disturbing acrid tang beneath.
Poison Ivy tilted his face towards her with a slender green digit beneath his chin. "And who might you be?" she said, enjoying immensely the terrified look quickly taking over the newcomer's face.
"Um, I...er..." he stammered, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. There was a whole sofa, why'd she have to sit so close?
Ivy gave a little laugh. She'd never get bored of how stupid she could make men act. "Your name?" she prompted.
"Oh, er, I'm Dominic. Gîte."
"Sorry?"
The two syllables seemed to send the man even further into himself, but he managed to repeat. "Gîte. It's, um, it's French."
Ivy laughed once more. Gîte laughed along with her, though more out of nerves than anything else. Wrapped up in the cringe-worthy moment, he was momentarily unaware that a third person was also laughing, a dry, crackling chuckle that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand to attention. A hand rough with numerous criss-crossing scars came to rest on his shoulder.
"Pamela, it seems you are frightening our newest addition. I believe that is my job." Dominic's momentary feeling of relief dissolved at this last part. His head was again manipulated round by a finger under the jaw, so he was looking at beady, bloodshot eyes observing him carefully over a beak-like nose. The man's gaze flickered over him as though he were a specimen in a jar. Dominic squinted back; he had recognised Poison Ivy from the newspapers, but was having great difficulty figuring out who exactly the man currently dissecting him with his stare was.
As if reading his mind, Ivy laughed once more. "Well, look at that Jonathan. He doesn't recognise you. I guess that's what happens when you run around with a sack on your head." Of course! This was Scarecrow. He'd been brought here once again by Batman a few months back; he should have known he'd meet him here.
Jonathan Crane spotted the moment the new arrival realised who he was, as his eyes suddenly darted away from his, as though even looking at him would cause him some mortal injury. If his presence could still illicit that sort of response then perhaps his absence from the rogues scene wasn't having as bad an effect on his reputation as he'd suspected.
Although, he noted, this man appeared even more prone to cowering than most of Gotham. Even before he'd joined the conversation, the psychiatrist in Crane had noticed the man picking at the skin around his nails, which were already bitten down to stubs. Now he knew who he was, he was in danger of making himself bleed. What a very...contained way of expressing agitation.
Crane sat himself in the chair opposite, his brown eyes staying permanently locked on to Dominic's grey ones, even when Dominic backed down and looked away. He'd always thought staring contests were a childish and ineffective way of establishing dominance. Now he knew he was wrong
"So," he said, settling into the game of interrogate-the-newbie, "when did you arrive?" It was a simple question, but to Dominic it sounded like an accusation. Was that Scarecrow's intention or was he getting paranoid? He didn't think one man could make him question himself with so few words and so little time, but then again his was by no means the strongest of wills. Still, he mentally scolded himself for letting Crane get to him so quickly. After all, he'd probably be staying here with him indefinitely, unless the Master of Fear decided to break out.
"Last night," he managed to murmur apologetically, "you were all asleep, I, I didn't want to wake you..."
Once again, he found himself being laughed at in that crackling manner. "You mean you were afraid to wake us."
Dominic shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant and failing miserably, "If you like, I..."
"So what are you doing there," Poison Ivy cut him off, snatching the book of puzzles from his fidgeting fingers, "Sudoku?"
Relieved to be on a subject he felt comfortable with, Gîte nodded.
"But what's this?" she said, an emerald finger pointing lazily at the numbers pencilled in along the side of the rows.
"Oh that, I, I like to put a couple of add, subtract, multiply and divide signs in, and some brackets, and work out the answers," he said quickly, worried his new roommates would find it dull and interrupt him again, "it, um, it helps keep my mental arithmetic skills sharp."
To his surprise, both Ivy and Crane seemed at least mildly interested. Usually when he started talking about maths he either completely lost his audience or gained one keen to test his acclaimed abilities. It would seem his two new acquaintances were of the second school of thought.
"Go on."
"Well, I mean, for this row the answers were 1, 6, 5, 9, 8, 7, 4, 3 and 2. I put the first three in a bracket and multiplied them, then I added the next two," he glanced up to find Scarecrow's eyes still fixed on his, and he lost his flow for a second, "then I, um, I divided by the, the last four all added together."
"And...?"
"It, er, it came to 2.9375."
"How do you do that?" Poison Ivy said in his ear, her voice still subtly mocking, but also seemingly impressed.
"Well, I, I just think of it as a puzzle. Figure out all the little pieces and then put it all together. It's...I find it interesting."
Crane and Ivy shared a significant glance.