AN: I know. Fluffy. Basically, this is me making up for what's coming in October. 31 days of screaming, crying, self-maiming, death...it won't be pretty. I think it's beautiful.See? Ah, the sound of teeth biting through a tongue...SPOILERS! Hehehe.
SwordStitcher-They did, just not for that. Alas. We got paid in screams. Screams don't pay the bills. They do now. No, they don't. We don't have bills. Are you bitching? No, I'm just pointing it out. Whatever. I am! Am not. I am so! Am not! Oh, my god...I'm going shopping. Please don't blow up the lair again. Scarecrow blew it up, not me. LIES! I DID NOT! You were playing with matches! It was an accident!
Jasmine Scarthing-I. Hate. Heat. I don't! Girls in bikinis. Mm. You would notice the bikinis. And you don't. I wouldn't, if you weren't always going, 'look at that one!' Well, someone has to. Can't you keep it to yourself? Nope. Why? Because it's fun to watch you stammer and flail a little. Really? Thanks. I appreciate your honesty. You're welcome!
Just-Me-and-My-Brain-Gotham usually isn't too terrible in the summer. But that year...I think everyone ended up checking back into Arkham for the air conditioning. It was a fairly quiet summer. We all broke out in mid-August, of course-I had my Halloween planning and everyone else was going a little stir-crazy. Winter was an absolute nightmare. I pity any tourists that got caught up in it.
He doesn't mind that she wears his clothes sometimes, he just minds that she never gives them back.
He had a flannel in college-nothing special, just a light blue plaid flannel shirt. It was warm. He liked it. So did she, apparently. She borrowed it one night to make a run to the store and it found its way into her side of the closet.
Scarecrow thought it looked better on her, anyway.
Later, when he had a job at Arkham, she had a habit of stealing his button-ups to wear around the house. Invariably, he never got them back. Ever.
Scarecrow thought those looked better on her as well. For once, Jonathan agreed with him.
Then, somehow or another, she'd stolen his straitjacket-seriously?-and turned it into a coat. It looked warm, actually. And convenient for hiding canisters in. He didn't mind that one so much. He didn't like straitjackets.
Scarecrow, unsurprisingly, loved it. He would.
And now this.
She'd gotten for him, on purpose, and he'd actually worn it. So why is she wearing it now? That's the goodbye-kiss for his clothing, seeing them on her.
"Kitty!"
"What?"
"You have shirts."
"They're all bloodstained. I'll give it back, I promise."
No, she won't. He'll be stealing it back, though, because it's soft and he wears it all the time.
Maybe this time he'll hide it.
THE END