Howdy, folks! Thanks for the feedback! Yeah, Hester's a little foul-mouthed, but if my memories of middle school are correct (which they might not be, seeing how much I've tried to repress, shudder) preteens cuss like sailors when they think no one's looking because they think it makes them seem more "mature." In the unlikely event any tweens are reading this: it doesn't. It just makes you annoying. Stop it. Save it for when you have a thirty page thesis and two other ten-page essays due in a limited amount of time.

Ahem.

Disclaimer: Batman and all related things belong to my puppetmaster DC.

The Scarecrow Letters II

Dear Jonathan,

Heavy stuff. I'm not really sure I get all that ecstasy of fear mumbo jumbo. The DARE officer'd probably freak, though. I don't really get it now, but I hope it'll make sense later. You know, since you're going to teach me all about fear and stuff, I was thinking I should join you! It would be fucking awesome! I'd be such a cool villain! You know, I could get a cool costume, call myself the Scarester or something and we'd scare everyone together! I could go to Gotham and never have to see anyone in Arlen again. I could hang out with you all the time. You're the only person in the world I really like. You're the only one who really listens to me. And I practically know everyone at Gotham already because you tell me about them and I know I'd get along with most of them. I really want to get out of here and meet you finally. Mom tries to hang out with me more, but always with one of her boyfriends and she doesn't know me at all. Her boyfriend now isn't too bad, but he's still dumb as a brick and I can hear them at night and it's gross. I want to get out of here so bad. Madison's boyfriend is really being a bastard and I wish him and everybody else who says things about me and my mom would just go away and die. His dad's about as bad. He's a big one-eyed creep who knows about you and he yells at me. You did something to him, huh? He probably deserved it. I don't suppose you have a plan for taking out all of Arlen, do you? Worth a shot.

Love,

Hester-Mae

P.S. I found out my dad didn't die from drinking. I don't blame you though. He sounds like he deserved it. I don't blame mom either for not telling. I saw her watching a thing on you when she thought I was in bed. She winced when Batman punched you. I thought you might like to know.

Dear sister,

So you have taken an interest in joining the elite of Gotham. Good girl. My years of letters have not been in vain. It is not an easy life, I warn you. Believe it or not, the GCPD's been beginning to get more competent cops. It used to be just Gordon and O'Hara, but then Ramirez was signed on, and then Yin and who knows who else. Hired thugs are mostly incompetent fools and you have no idea how happy I am to have found you. You never know quite when the Great Flying Rat will show up with one of his baby birds in tow.

Still, the reward for success is immense. I cannot describe the feeling of the denizens of this city cowering beneath me as if to a god. It is like I am Timor come to earth from the chariot of Mars to instill terror into the hearts of the quivering mortals. There is a great deal of respect in the underworld for those able to repeatedly go toe-toe with the Bat Man. There are also some monetary benefits if one is interested in that, but money is only useful for further research, for further plots.

The key to joining our ranks is having a good persona. It is what separates the likes of me from embarrassments such as the so-called Crazy Quilt. I am not making him up. Your costume must identify you to the world and intimidate. Your name must be something that will be whispered in fear by the population for years. I am afraid "the Scarester" will not do. You must cultivate a personality that instigates dread the moment you step into a room. The Scarecrow is terrifying. I can see into your mind, your soul. I whisper a lullaby as you sink slowly into the wonder and glory of absolute terror. I have crafted myself well, and I shall help you to craft yourself as well.

First hint: clean up your language a bit. I'm not telling you to talk like a character from a Norman Rockwell painting and I know I try to encourage you to be comfortable with me and to be who you cannot be around others, but a foul-mouthed little girl is more comedic than frightening, dear. You have the potential to become an absolute terror to behold to the average worm and I want to nurture that. Try muttering horrific things under your breath. I find that when one of my fellow inmates does this, many of the guards and interns become most unnerved. Perhaps Poe might do.

I apologize for the briefness of this letter but I have been put on a new medication and I believe it's starting to kick in, damn it all. I am glad you wish to join me, sister. Write back to me what you have in mind for a persona. Think about what frightens you to help. I will attempt to elaborate on the nature of fear later when I can think properly. Best of luck.

Yours,

Jonathan

P.S. I do not care for our mother's opinion on me. She had her chance. Sixteen or not, she could have done something. I had sent crows to pluck out a boy's eye and kill our great-grandmother by then.

Might be a while 'til the next one. I'll try not to make it too long, but I have a ton of stuff to work on.