He'll sit in a barn and keep himself warm
Brianna enjoyed the solitude of her cell. If she concentrated hard enough, she could even ignore the constant sound of crazy people complaining out in the hallways, or the guards telling them to 'shut the fuck up.' And, once she had done that, she could even almost imagine that Crane wasn't constantly staring at her back.
Almost.
She figured he must have some kind of mental deficiency to find such a strange amusement in the fact that she was sitting down on her floor, cross-legged, with her back facing the Plexiglas that held her in. However, he relented.
The most frustrating part was that when she finally turned around to glare at him, he was always reading his damn book. She assumed that he would have been done with it by now, but apparently he was at the reading level of a toddler trying to digest a college level book. She rolled her eyes when he didn't even glance upwards in her direction, and turned around again, struggling to ignore his gaze as it scorched her back.
She was slowly becoming more used to Emma not being around in her mind, whispering to her things she could do. It made her less aggravated, and she was thankful for that. As she sat there, she found herself contemplating simple things. For example, her hate for her apartment. Who in their right mind would want to live in such a cramped space—especially with another person? She wondered if now, moving back in wouldn't be so bad. The thought made her wince; as far as she knew, she was never going to leave this goddamn place.
"Hey, get up! It's time for dinner." Brianna turned, finding a guard waiting for her at her door. He pulled it open and she walked over without any qualms, where he cuffed her and made to drag her off. She dodged out of the way, glaring at him for trying to touch her, and moved on ahead to show him that he didn't need to force her to move.
As she walked down the hallway, she rolled her eyes, mostly at herself. Had she really just been thinking about her apartment? And how goddamn cramped it was? Maybe she really was going crazy just by being in this forsaken place.
Once again, the guards made to type in their silly six digit codes and then wait for the buzzer and the door to unlock so they could herd her through. She felt a little mistreated. Since when had she become some cow that had to be led to her food every day?
She got her little tour of the high-school-esk dinning hall, where she got her little grey lumps of dinner—was that pudding? How thoughtful—and then she got to walk all the way back to the little two-person room where she would await for her dinner partner. Brianna set her tray down and poked the pudding with her spoon. She supposed it was supposed to be vanilla, but it looked a little yellow. It was much less viscous than pudding should be, and it smelled like sweat.
Prodding it again, she suddenly realized what it was and reeled back, disgust on her face. Surely that wasn't really… She clenched her eyes shut and forced the bile emerging in her throat back down. She couldn't even think about it—it was simply too disgusting. There was no way that the Asylum was actually serving that of all things—bodily fluids would not be on the menu.
She breathed in through her mouth and out her nose, not wanting to take in the scent. Suddenly finding the food unappetizing she pushed the tray away from her. It wasn't the food; she knew that. It was Brianna. She felt dread weighing in her stomach at the thought.
In that same moment the doors were opened again and a lanky, brunette man was shoved into the room. That dread only changed from a cold stone to a cold boulder as she realized exactly who her dinner partner was going to be from here on out.
The pale man grumbled, annoyed, and pushed his glasses back up his nose snootily. He straightened up, and Brianna noticed that he would be much, much taller than her even while she was sitting down. His legs were long and thin, and his arms the same. His fingers were perhaps the most disturbing—they were finger's that would find it easy to wrap around the entirety of someone's throat and strangle the life out of them. Spider-fingers, thief-fingers. She wondered if he had ever stolen anything, or if he played the piano. He certainly seemed the type. To play piano, that is.
He looked up and realized with a cold gaze exactly whom his dinner partner was, as well. He stood still for a single moment, catching a heady glimpse at his delightful new test subject. She stared back, her icy blue eyes hard and cold. He noticed that her hair was lighter than his, but ridiculously long, falling down her back in messy, tangled waves. She appeared as if she hadn't bathed herself in quite awhile, and if he got too close he knew she probably smelled like sweat and other unpleasant scents. She didn't appear to care—or even notice.
He took in the rest of her situation; her orange jumpsuit was zipped up a modest amount, completely covering her chest, and her sleeves were not rolled up as were most of the other patients around Arkham. The suit was completely unflattering, not as if she had anything worth seeing, judging by the part of her he could see. She had pushed her tray away from her, and sat with her hands in her lap.
The strangest thing, however, was the fact that she sat very tall. She was a short person, of course, but her presence was remarkable. Her shoulders sat back, and she looked on with a level gaze. She was completely confidant with herself, perhaps to the point of being overconfident. She was a narcissist, he reminded himself, recalling the notes Dr. Burton had taken on her. He found himself wanting to know more about her strange, out of place narcissism.
Jonathan took a seat across from her, and he sat straight as well. He would show her that he was a force to be reckoned with—and he smiled at her cruelly, thinking about how she had not even a single chance in this asylum, not while he was around.
Brianna was less than irritated. She supposed it had come as a shock to find that Crane was her dinner partner, but she wasn't mad or annoyed in any way. She didn't particularly care, in all honestly.
Something in her shifted, however. Emma was gone—much more gone than ever before. It was as if she had never existed at all, and Brianna wondered if she had perhaps imagined those black-outs and strange voices. It was odd to think of them—it seemed like it had happened a million years ago.
Brianna noticed, as well, that Crane was attractive up close. He smiled at her curtly in greeting as he took his seat, though his eyes stayed cold and calculating all the same. His lips were full, his teeth straight, his eyes round. The color was strange, and she realized this only when she was so close. They were so light, lighter than baby blue, perhaps a bit gray. She likened it to the sky on a cloudy day, when rain was threatened but would never come.
Attractive, but no attraction. She looked elsewhere, uncurious.
"Hello," he said politely. His voice was soft, but she sensed mal intent. "I'm Jonathan." Brianna's eyes slid back to him, and she raised an eyebrow slowly. She noticed a quirk in the corner of his lips, a twitch, and she understood that he was smirking. She didn't say anything for a moment, and Jonathan wondered, annoyed, if she was stupid.
"Brianna Clark," she said in return. She felt herself smile, but she did not really feel it. She wondered if she should even bother trying to be polite to others here. "I already know who you are."
"Do you?" He didn't look surprised; he looked cocky. Brianna's finger's tightened into a fist and she clenched her jaw. Something inside of her felt caged, and animalistic, dying to get out and swallow him in his idiocy. He was nothing, not compared to her. She was everything, should be at least, to scum like him.
Jonathan hadn't missed the switch in her attitude, and couldn't help the surprise that swam in his stomach. The way her blue eyes froze over and burned at the same time was astonishing and ancient; wolfish, almost.
"What brings you here, of all places?" Jonathan tried, giving her an amused smile to portray his joke. Still, her anger prevailed and he was immensely curious as to why. Where was this girl's fear? Didn't she know exactly who he was?
"That's none of your concern," she said simply. Jonathan quirked an eyebrow.
"Well you know why I'm here. It's only fair that I should know why you're here, as well." If she was open before, she definitely wasn't anymore. He could see the doors to opportunity closing swiftly in his face.
"Life isn't fair, is it?" She was struggling to keep some sort of smile on her face, but it only served to make her look ferocious. Like a puppy, Jonathan thought, bemused.
"Strange you would say that," he murmured, watching her with deft, calculating eyes. Brianna could feel that hot fury bubbling in her veins. The nerve of this man—to try and worm his way into her life and to interrogate her like some kind of disgusting psychologist! Her fists clenched, and she could feel her ragged nails biting into her palms. She had made it very clear that she didn't wish to tell him, yet he pestered her and studied her like a lab-rat. Brianna! A rat! It was laughable—inconceivable!
However, she bit her tongue and looked away from him, missing the slightly wicked up-tilt of his grin. She wondered desperately when she would be able to leave this room.
Jonathan was curious—she showed no fear toward him, as he would have expected anyone else to. He could feel the excitement and slight frustration of this new little experiment. He had made his decision the moment long before she had been led into her cell; this girl, this woman who stared without emotion at the Rogue's who filled the disgusting Batman's little gallery—this woman who looked on to stare at the most wanted and insane and terrifying criminals in all of Gotham's history—and probably the world—without a single ounce of fear making her pinky finger tremble was innately interesting.
Brianna Clark was a challenge that Crane was sure only he could take on. And take her on, he would: but first he would have to get closer to her, make her trust him. He had a plan; thing's were in store for her and she would just have to wait patiently for a little while until their game could begin.
Jonathan smiled warmly at her, attempting to look sheepish.
"I don't mean to pry." Oh, but of course he did! How else would he find out exactly what she was afraid of? The words caught her attention, however, just as he had known they would. She looked back up at him.
Her eyes drifted to his lips, and he immediately became curious of that action. What could have possibly gone through her head that made the weird look of disgust paint its way across her eyes? She made contact once more, and her icy gaze sliced straight through him. A sickly smile fell on her own lips, and she stood.
"Of course you didn't."
If Jonathan didn't know any better, he might think that she was trying to be nice. She turned and walked away, not bothering with her untouched food, and the guards glanced at her, then at the clock. They shrugged and led her out of the room, even though she had about a minute and a half left to eat.
While Jonathan waited to be escorted, he pondered what he had just witnessed. She would be his curious little puppet, though said to not fear anything. Thousands of idea's slid through his mind, most too quick to catch. He wondered how she would react to his toxin, how he could get her to feel comfortable around him, what she was afraid of, if it was possible to not fear anything.
He couldn't accept the last one. No, it wasn't possible. Fear was something people were born with—human being's had a right to feel fear. It kept them alive, fed their instincts. There was no functioning on simply logic alone. Every human being had instincts, even the most solidified of their race.
The guards barked at him to stand and Jonathan rolled his eyes, giving them a sour look. He could hear them just fine without their yelling.
Brianna walked swiftly into her cell, rubbing her wrists now that the handcuffs were gone. She sighed, squeezing her eyes closed, and struggled to push away her frustration with this place. It was as if every single person here was some disease infested idiot, unable to understand where she came from and apparently all wanting to pry inside of her mind. She could hear Crane walking down the hall with his guards, but she didn't turn to look at him. She didn't dare.
Instead, she sat down on her uncomfortable cot and faced the wall, thinking. It seemed like that was all there was to do here. It was either think, or talk, and she wasn't particularly keen on the latter. Then the others would simply be inclined to make her talk more, and then where would she be? Everyone would bug her, and that of course included the Joker. If he decided that he couldn't resist harassing her she might just snap.
Brianna sighed, and buried her face in her hands, struggling to breathe through her fingers.
It suddenly hit her, like a weight falling from the white, blank ceiling on to her shoulders. When had this happened? When had she decided that everyone else in the world were stupid and careless and diseased?
This sudden bought of clarity shocked her. She didn't look around—that was dangerous. She didn't want to show other people that something had changed, even though it had. The anger that she had been feeling towards Crane seemed to be slowly spiraling down the drain, leaving her to wilt. She lay down on her bed, and stared up at the walls instead, wondering why she was so angry.
She recalled thinking once that fear and sadness were useless, but was that really it? She stared, confused. Where had this thought of everyone having The Disease come from? She blinked, thinking hard, trying desperately to figure out where it had originated. She thought back to several days ago, to a week ago, to a month ago. No, it was as if she had always thought this way. Well, not always—not unless she had been taking her medicine.
Brianna comforted herself with these few seconds of realization. If she could have a moment or two on her own like this, without that hate that plagued her, then maybe there would be moments like this in the future.
Then her mind came back to her, and she was disgusted by her vague idiocy.
A/N: I'm kind of dissappointed with my readers, to be honest. :/ Maybe it's just hormones talking. I don't know. I just don't look forward to updating anymore.
Anyway, sorry the update is late, whether I like doing it or not. I was gone on vacation all weekend and I just got back today. Also, thanks to all that reviewed, I really appreciate the feed-back. I like hearing that I'm doing such a good job writting this, but I need something a little deeper than that. I like hearing what I can improve on, so if you have anything to say about that, go crazy.