Suddenly, a Jackstraw! Fuck, why is this guy so hard for me to write?

Of course, that was to be expected. Not that he was gay, though there was a limit to how well-dressed, well-mannered, and well-versed a straight man could be. No, it was only to be expected that Riddler would provide the most tame date, by comparison. The Riddler's reputation wasn't intimidating so much as it was moderately respected – he hadn't killed anyone, he wasn't something to fear.

Even at the thought, she couldn't stop the tremor crawling up her spine.

Fear. She had almost drawn the line at Jonathan Crane. Sure, where Joker would possibly blow her up, or Two-Face would decide if she got a dance or a black eye at the flip of a coin, Crane wanted the fear. Indubitably. There was no doubt in her mind, no grey-space; on a date with the Scarecrow, it would follow that she would be scared out of her mind.

-

She had not expected something so...casual from a man like Jonathan Crane. Light dinner and a movie; nothing fancy, no frills, and most importantly, no thrills. For a good while, she couldn't help but be suspicious.

However, for a good while, that suspicion remained baseless. He was courteous, willing to start up conversations on her interests before divulging his own; it was as though the burlap mask and straw-filled tunic had never even been near this man. Finally, on the way to the theatre, she felt herself relax, just letting herself enjoy the conversation.

But then she saw the title of the film from the curb: Hell on Oak Avenue: Beginnings.

She had seen Hell on Oak Avenue. She had heard reviews for this remake. It was supposed to be a clever, modern take on the original, which was the pinnacle of horror films in its day.

Somewhere in the world, she was sure Captain Obvious was laughing his ass off.

Her look of complete disbelief (how could she be so naive?) went unnoticed by Crane as he returned to her side with tickets, a smile on his thin face. She almost snapped at him, to ask what the hell he was playing at, but something in that smile made her hesitate, made her take his arm and follow him to the concession stand, made her hold the popcorn as he carried drinks.

It wasn't the smile of someone who had won a sick game, who was enjoying someone else's squirming – it was the smile of someone who had gotten tickets to a movie they wanted to see.

Still, she didn't swallow a single drop of the soda he handed her, nor did she accept any popcorn. He may have behaved himself until then, but she certainly wasn't stupid. And because she wasn't stupid, she remained wary of everything.

Of course, being wary for too long can make a person tense, and being tense makes the little surprises all the more pronounced. Every time the hatchet-wielding maniac jumped from the closet, or whenever the floorboards creaked pointedly, she jumped ever so slightly.

After each twitch, she felt herself liking this movie less and less. If she hadn't been gripping the armrests as tight as she was, the crickets chirping would have made her jump a foot in the air.

Beside her, she heard a slight chuckle, and felt Crane lean over. Oh god, he wasn't going to gas her was he? Oh, she could feel it coming, it would happen, and her heart would leap straight from her –

"Too scary for you?" His voice was calm, smooth. Somehow, the murmur made his accent stand out all the more, made it seem so...sinister. She barely suppressed a shiver and smiled unconvincingly.

Suddenly, the screen flashed red and the music screeched to a halt. Her eyes snapped shut instinctively, and she couldn't have stopped the whimper tearing out of her throat if she tried.

Crane laughed again, somewhat louder this time, and she heard a rustling sound. Cautiously, she opened an eye and caught a glimpse of a small notepad in one hand, pencil in the other dancing across the paper. He caught her eye, grinning. "How long have you been holding that in?"

Her mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, and she settled for looking sufficiently horrified.

He prodded her arm with the pencil, grin still on his face. "Would you mind doing that again?"

"Would you mind keeping it down?" an agitated voice whispered from behind them. She turned her head, giving the man behind them a look she hoped was less pleading than contrite.

Crane waved a hand at the interruption, never taking his eyes from her face. "Come, come. Just once more. The pitch was just excellent – "

"Look, buddy, some people actually want to watch this. Last time I'm going to ask before – "

She saw it happening before it actually did: the man leaning forward, to put more weight into his threat, and Crane nonchalantly taking what looked like an inhaler from his pocket and spraying the contents in the man's face. The man shuddered, a rasping sound coming out of his mouth, and then he was silent, as close to the fetal position as one could get in a theatre chair.

Then the arm holding the gas canister was moving again, and ohgodohgodohgod he was going to spray her with it, ohgodohgodohgod –

"Perfect, thank you." Satisfied, Crane spent the next few minutes scribbling in his notepad while those around him shuffled into different seats. He looked incredibly pleased, like he was in his own little world. Indeed, he didn't pay her any mind when she dug out her own notepad.

'Scarecrow is into dominance. He gets what he wants.'