Post by zsasz on Feb 17, 2013 16:44:17 GMT -5
Jonathan Crane: "Good morning Gotham, Vicki Vale here with the latest development on the Carmine "The Roman" Falcone vs The City of Gotham case! Currently, it's not looking good for the so-called "untouchable" crime boss, but rumor says that Dr. Jonathan Crane, a highly esteemed psychiologist for Arkham Asylum, is coming in to plead that Mr. Falcone is insane! If this works out, this would be the twenty-seventh case that Dr. Crane has convinced the court of insanity, and the twenty-seventh time another murderer has managed to relax in the cushy walls of Arkham due to Crane. I don't know about you folks, but I think we -all- know who lines the stitches in Crane's pocket." Fools. Fools and liars and idiots. They all yammer on and on about such useless things as morals and integrity, when they do not even understand the importance of science and research. It makes no matter. The judge calls the Roman to the stand, and we all watch for the greatest show on earth. We all watch from the safety of our wooden benches, and we all watch as the fear of being detained, of finally losing, takes hold in the mind of the untouchable, and he puts on his show that he does not understand the difference between right and wrong, as if such ancient things had ever had meaning. He talks, and he talks, and he talks. And all the noise that goes on in my head, is screaming, and crying, and screaming, and crying. -e-
Batman: Carmine: “White walls are actually blue.” –The man spoke with a dull tone, clearly not amused.- “I hear voices telling me that everything is fake. That none of this is real. That this is all just a show. ” –He smiled and waved at a court room camera.- “Heya Mom! I’m on the tube! And I’m not insane, I’m just eager to watch some cartoons. I like the bright colors. You know White walls are actually blue?” –The man was middle aged, probably about his 50’s. Meanwhile…Bruce stood by the grinding wheel, a roar of stone against metal as sparks flew from the piece and occasionally crashed against his plastic goggles or his bare hands. Alfred arrived behind him.- “So, I don’t suppose you met anyone while you were…uh…’Dead,’ did you? A woman would be a much better reason for doing something…shall we say, extreme?” –Bruce’s attention shifted as he pulled the batarang off the grinding wheel to examine it. “No…” –Alfred frowned some at Bruce’s response, wishing it was a lie that Bruce was telling him. Little did Alfred suspect, Bruce was lying, thoughts of kissing Miranda while in the training facility of the League of Assassins. Miranda was an enchanting woman who touched his heart and made him realize that killing only lead to vengeance and furthered that notion that vengeance wasn’t a valid reason for doing this. He couldn’t inspire good if he was encouraging everyone to seek vengeance. He had to inspire everyone to stand up for justice. Alfred looked at the television of the Falcone case, as Bruce just listened.- “Well I’ll be. I guess there is no justice in the world. You bust your rump to get the man behind bars and look where he is now.” “It’s alright…At least he’s off the street, right? He still controls the mob, it’ll just be a message that Batman is someone who doesn’t fear them. And people have *nothing* to *fear.*
Jonathan Crane: The case is over, Falcone is sentenced to Arkham. Of course he is. The fools know nothing. Lunatics scream and pound at plexiglass walls, howling at doctors whilst shoes scuff upon the floor, And Dr. Crane opens the door to his newest patient. "How are we doing today, Mr. Falcone?" He speaks before closing the door to the soundproof room, taking a seat in front of the "insane" crime boss. "How am I doin'? How 'bout itching to get the hell out of here? You promised me that you'd have me out in a week!" The angered middle-aged man spat, quite literally, covering the expensive table with his disguisting spittle. "You see, Mr. Falcone. I promised you something, and you promised -me- something. You shorted me on my payment." The gangly, unintimidating doctor spoke calmly, his tone bored and placid, the very image of something that...is....not.....scary. "Yeah yeah, so you didn't get all the money. So what? I got bills to pay, and they're more expensive than you, four-eyes. Besides, what the hell are ya gonna do to me, eh? Talk to me about my feelings?" He laughed. LAUGHED. In the face of a genius. The Doctor leaned in, licked his lips, and spoke. "Do you want to see my mask?" He asked, a quirk of the eyebrow, as he undid the suitcase and pulled out a roughly stitched leatherskin mask. "Now, I'm quite certain that something like this wouldn't scare a....hardened man like you, but these crazies......they cannot stand it." He chuckled as he placed it on, suddenly smashing a vial in the suitcase with his fist as a toxic gas fills the air, just as the screams fill it as well. "They scream and they cry, much as you're doing now." Five minutes later, the untouchable Roman crouches in a fetal position, the stench of urine and fear saturates the air, and two security guards escort him to his new cell, and there will never be any doubt that Carmine Falcone is most assuredly.....insane.
Batman: Carmine: “White walls are actually blue.” –The man spoke with a dull tone, clearly not amused.- “I hear voices telling me that everything is fake. That none of this is real. That this is all just a show. ” –He smiled and waved at a court room camera.- “Heya Mom! I’m on the tube! And I’m not insane, I’m just eager to watch some cartoons. I like the bright colors. You know White walls are actually blue?” –The man was middle aged, probably about his 50’s. Meanwhile…Bruce stood by the grinding wheel, a roar of stone against metal as sparks flew from the piece and occasionally crashed against his plastic goggles or his bare hands. Alfred arrived behind him.- “So, I don’t suppose you met anyone while you were…uh…’Dead,’ did you? A woman would be a much better reason for doing something…shall we say, extreme?” –Bruce’s attention shifted as he pulled the batarang off the grinding wheel to examine it. “No…” –Alfred frowned some at Bruce’s response, wishing it was a lie that Bruce was telling him. Little did Alfred suspect, Bruce was lying, thoughts of kissing Miranda while in the training facility of the League of Assassins. Miranda was an enchanting woman who touched his heart and made him realize that killing only lead to vengeance and furthered that notion that vengeance wasn’t a valid reason for doing this. He couldn’t inspire good if he was encouraging everyone to seek vengeance. He had to inspire everyone to stand up for justice. Alfred looked at the television of the Falcone case, as Bruce just listened.- “Well I’ll be. I guess there is no justice in the world. You bust your rump to get the man behind bars and look where he is now.” “It’s alright…At least he’s off the street, right? He still controls the mob, it’ll just be a message that Batman is someone who doesn’t fear them. And people have *nothing* to *fear.*
Jonathan Crane: The case is over, Falcone is sentenced to Arkham. Of course he is. The fools know nothing. Lunatics scream and pound at plexiglass walls, howling at doctors whilst shoes scuff upon the floor, And Dr. Crane opens the door to his newest patient. "How are we doing today, Mr. Falcone?" He speaks before closing the door to the soundproof room, taking a seat in front of the "insane" crime boss. "How am I doin'? How 'bout itching to get the hell out of here? You promised me that you'd have me out in a week!" The angered middle-aged man spat, quite literally, covering the expensive table with his disguisting spittle. "You see, Mr. Falcone. I promised you something, and you promised -me- something. You shorted me on my payment." The gangly, unintimidating doctor spoke calmly, his tone bored and placid, the very image of something that...is....not.....scary. "Yeah yeah, so you didn't get all the money. So what? I got bills to pay, and they're more expensive than you, four-eyes. Besides, what the hell are ya gonna do to me, eh? Talk to me about my feelings?" He laughed. LAUGHED. In the face of a genius. The Doctor leaned in, licked his lips, and spoke. "Do you want to see my mask?" He asked, a quirk of the eyebrow, as he undid the suitcase and pulled out a roughly stitched leatherskin mask. "Now, I'm quite certain that something like this wouldn't scare a....hardened man like you, but these crazies......they cannot stand it." He chuckled as he placed it on, suddenly smashing a vial in the suitcase with his fist as a toxic gas fills the air, just as the screams fill it as well. "They scream and they cry, much as you're doing now." Five minutes later, the untouchable Roman crouches in a fetal position, the stench of urine and fear saturates the air, and two security guards escort him to his new cell, and there will never be any doubt that Carmine Falcone is most assuredly.....insane.