AN: This story is a bit of a slow burn as I like build up, but it is COMPLETE and should read like it's own comic book run. As in I specifically worked to make this a style that would make it easily adaptable to either a mini-movie, or compiled comic. The first several chapters focus mostly on Crane because he's the canon I feel most confident writing for.
It's rated to be on the safe side for violence and future disturbing themes. Feel free to leave critique, there is always room for improvement. I also enjoy hearing your thoughts as you read so I know if I'm leaving the desired impression.
There was nothing interesting about a meek little mouse, homicide ward or not most were quick to find her unresponsive nature a bore. Yet, on this dreary afternoon with the rain pelting the world outside and window panes high above them, the Scarecrow found himself eyeing the young woman. Probably from boredom. He had been locked away behind these concrete walls for what must have surely been months. He had already delved into the psyches of the other inmates, drudged up their terrors and anticipated their anxieties. It was to be expected that he would do the same for this new inmate as well, particularly when he had every notion the abysmal simpletons refereed to as doctors of this establishment would continue disappointing him. So it was he had begun to examine the fresh meat, as the other inmates phrased it, casually from over the top of the books he had been allowed.
She hadn't said a word since she'd been committed, the youth in question. Average height and build for what must have been a barely twenty-something girl. Which was to say a good deal shorter than himself (five foot four perhaps?), it was actually a bit difficult to tell body type given the baggy clothing, so he didn't bother to guess such an unimportant detail. The Arkham uniform remained long sleeves and pant legs never slashed or ripped or tied up for customization as the other female inmates liked to do. She wasn't catatonic, she walked of her own accord and occasionally might flick eyes to a target from underneath long and ever unkempt hair before they returned to the floor.
She failed to remained oblivious to the notice of all inmates. Harley had sat with her for an entire afternoon once, blabbing away about everything and nothing and braiding the girl's long locks with only casual fuss that the girl should clean it better. Jervis sat with her on another day and when given no name he resorted to calling her Alice, which she made no response to or effort to correct. Crane had frowned at this development, knowing it would be no good for his sometimes cohort in crime. No doubt the therapists, if they had any mind what so ever, would see to correcting the development before it got out of hand. Then again, they had unquestionably failed at simpler tasks in the past. She gave Jervis and Harley each just as much as any other inmate. Nothing more than, at best, a flick of her eyes in response to any prodding inquiry.
Of course, they lacked Crane's particular intellect and training. He picked up clues from examination alone. He wasn't surprised of course with who took notice, the two had always been more kind among the crowd. Still villains to be sure, but Harley was always polite and addressed him with his proper titles. Jervis, while annoying at times with his constant talk of the fantastical Wonderland, still all be told wasn't as bad as the rest. And no doubt not as bad as Crane himself. The two seemed genuinely curious about her, where as he was simply pondering what would drive the mousy thing here and what, as a result, would be her greatest terrors. Was she truly mute? Or choosing not to speak from trauma? Crane intended to find out. It was all but expected, and the Master of Fear would hate to disappoint.
On this particular day Harley and Jervis each had settled in beside her, Jervis running a brush through the other half of her knotted hair and Harley braiding the side which had already been made smooth. Both seemed content to chatter off completely different conversations. Harley was talking about how she couldn't wait for Ivy or Joker to come home, she was certain Joker would be coming to bust her out any day after all and sighing in reverence for her "puddin". Jervis on the other hand was rambling a mile a minute about, what else, Wonderland. As she had made the mistake of not correcting his assignment of her role, he had already inserted her into his delusions, and was speaking at length of the adventures they would go on. Crane had read each of the books allowed to him a hundred times a piece, so it was easy to pick up these conversation pieces. Though he could have easily guessed the topics without so much as glancing their-
She was looking at him. This was a first. Or perhaps, more accurately, looking steadily at the book in his hands. When she noticed he was looking up her gaze returned swiftly to the floor in front of her feet. Well, he took it as invitation enough, closing the book and rising from his seat. He easily towered over most, but all the more so when those he approached sat perched upon the floor. Imposing (if lanky) form, some would at least have enough sense to grow unnerved with his presence, but the two only gave him day-dreaming smiles.
"Hey-yah professor!" Harley chirped, "Come to join us?"
"I was just telling Alice here all about what awaits us outside!" Jervis was pleased enough, but at last Harley made a face at him.
"I'm pretty sure that's not her name-"
"Of course it is! Isn't it, Alice?" He took silence as confirmation and returned to brushing out her hair. "Alice" hadn't looked up at Crane with the others, she didn't glance up until he had knelt down and held out the book in both hands. Her full attention was on the text as he spoke, his voice low and calm compared to the excited chattering of her current companions.
"Do you like to read?" The gaze alone answered beyond words, hungry and all consumed by the vision. Fingers twitched with a desire to reach out for the object, but she restrained herself and gave instead the barest nod. He returned the nod and extended the book closer to her, where upon her hands lifted to take it from him. Slowly, as if waiting for him to snatch it back from her grasp at any moment. Once obtained, it was handled with gentle reverence. She did not say thank you. Not with voice and not with gaze. Instead she opened the pages eagerly and began to read, which he supposed was its own kind of gratitude.
"They won't let me have a copy of Lewis Carroll's works, but I'll see if they can't get you a copy." Jervis was perfectly excited by the idea, and it seemed the mouse had heard him enough to give a nod as well, which pleased him all the more.
For the day, however, their time in the recreation room was finished, it was time to return to their cells. The girl kept the book cracked as she was marched back, not willing to set it aside for a moment. And so they had discovered a form of communication. It was a start to be sure. This should prove an amusing side endeavor before his next escape and plots. Once he could convince the mouse to squeak, he could convince it to scream. An idea which brought a positively sinister smile to his lips as he was set once more into his cell. Yes, this should prove to be very fun indeed.