Author's Note: It's been way too long! I'm going to begin to inject a little backstory to my characters which will be italicized. Remember, there is nothing to fear but the Scarecrow himself.
*My hands will be stained in the fear of my enemies*
Gasping, Crane clutched his abdomen as he collapsed onto the snow covered ground. Breathing harshly against the bitterly cold ground he could hear the jeers of his classmates urging Jeremy to go on.
"Oh, is poor little scarecrow cold? Too poor to buy a damn coat!" Jeremy sneered shoving his large boots against Jonathan's lanky frame. Glasses smashed against the snow, he struggled attempting to shove the large boy away from him. His thin jacket did little to keep him warm and his face began to burn from the unbearable contact. Biting his numb lips, he struggled to not let out a scream as the jock stomped harshly on his back. Do not react. Do not react.
Jeremy eventually released his size eleven boot and feigned sympathy, "Ya know, I wouldn't have messed with you if you would stay in you're damn cornfield. Stay away from Catherine you freak!" Jeremy forced Crane up with his bulging frame and smirked at the hollers of ridicule coming from his followers. Jonathan stared defiantly into the jock's ape-like face and smirked as the ape on steroids grew uneasy with his eerie colored eyes. Sneering, the ape ripped the glasses off of the man's face and broke them neatly with one of his meaty hands. Dropping the broken glass and plastic frame into the snow, he proceeded to pound Crane's face and slam him to the ground.
"Don't mess with me." the jock said bluntly, dragging his pack away from the defeated pray.
Jonathan clenched the bitterly cold snow in his fists and sighed as he watched his blood trickle into the snow.
*There is no passion so contagious as that of fear*
Regaining his composure, Crane stated haughtily, "This is the cafeteria for the lower to moderate threatening inmates. As you can see, armed security guards block all possible routes for escape," he gave a penetrating glare at Lynda, his eyes darkening and quickly brightening again, "and many of the residents are securely chained to the tables to prevent chaos from erupting. Gouging eyeballs with spoons and all that grisly business."
Lynda looks like she would like to gouge something of yours out…heh
Your brain really is made out of straw.
I know what that brain of yours is filled with Jhonny boy and it isn't much better.
"Sit." Crane bluntly stated shoving the kid's towards the tables, "Food will be passed along in a minute or so."
Warily, the students looked at the deranged faces staring at the newcomers hungrily. A man with thick, meaty arms embellished with a tattoo of a demon with cloven hooves hissed while licking his stubbled jaw, "You should taste better than the food here." Others stared at the amorphous blobs on their plates, muttering quietly to themselves and dribbling drool onto the highly sanitized tables. Another caused the chains to mutter violently as he twitched and wiped invisible creatures from his frame sniveling, "They're everywhere...they're everywhere…"
Eventually, the guards grew annoyed at the excitement and ushered the students to the empty seats wordlessly, clasping their guns in their front pockets to assert authority. Lynda moved along silently until she felt a firm hand tighten on her shoulder.
"What did I tell you? You have to stay with me so I can make sure you stay out of trouble. Come, I have an interesting patient for us to sit with." Politely, he nodded her toward her seat and sat beside her, relishing the heat emanating from Lynda.
"This is patient 50149, known to the public as the Ventriloquist," Cran eyed the rat-like man holding the worn puppet in undisguised disgust before he continued, "the dummy is known as Scarface whom he has "assisted" in numerous crimes such as dealing dealing, money laundering, and murder, with Scarface being the mob boss. He is believed to be suffering from multiple personality disorder." Lynda eyed the man in the stark white sanitorium clothes attempting to feed the dummy with a plastic spoon. His bright red hair was damp with sweat and sullenly attempted to place a pasty glob into Scarface's awaiting mouth. The dummy looked worn, his bright paint chipping away, a malicious sneer imprinted into the grainy wood. A small fedora was placed on its boxy head and he was finely dressed in a pressed tuxedo, his button lapel covered in the inedible lunch food.
"Hey dummy! Put the stuff in my MOUTH moron!" polished oak hands cracked against the Ventriloquist's ghostly pallor.
"S-s-sorry Scar-r-rface, it won't happen again." the man muttered, adjusting his thick spectacles. Trembling, he brought the food into Scarface's wide mouth. The object clacked its mouth with vigor as the food once again spilled onto his tiny, tailored suit.
"If I had my tommy gun right now dummy...CLEAN THIS MESS UP!" screaming Scarface slammed his oak hands once again on his dummy's egg-shaped head as he grabbed a flimsy napkin and began to tentatively clean the stains.
Absorbed in this odd communication, Lynda jumped when a blue tray full of unidentifiable substances clattered in front of her. "Eat up." Crane smirked, pointing toward the tray he had brought her.
"It's probably drugged…" Lynda muttered to herself pushing the foul smelling tray toward the arguing couple.
"Trust me, if I wanted to drug you it wouldn't be poison. " Crane chuckled as he slightly pushed the tray in her direction.