InsaneJournal

Sugar Shock
An hour late, but whatever.

The sound of pots and pans clanging in a cacophony of dings and bangs was one of the more common noises to be heard in the lair of the Scarecrow these days. So common, in fact, that Jonathan Crane had almost learned to sleep through the racket.

Of course, ‘almost’ only counts in horseshoes, it most certainly doesn’t even bear mentioning in this particular situation.

Crane lay face down on his bed, his nose pressed as deep into his mattress as the near-rock-hard surface would allow without causing suffocation, with a pillow of an impressive size covering his head. He held it to his ears, a hand clamped to each side of his face so hard one would think he was afraid his skull would fly apart at the seams if he did otherwise.

If he hadn’t been so completely bone weary from almost three days on the run from the Green Lantern of all people (the result of a comedy of errors which neither deserves explanation nor recollection) he would have done something more constructive than just sticking his head in the proverbial sand.

Something constructive…and most likely homicidal in nature.

But, though his mind was perfectly capable of concocting a variety of horrific scenarios in which there was a veritable smorgasbord of torture devices in store for his ‘beloved’ henchgirls, his body simply wasn’t up to the task.

Ooh, but if he were…the mess of tangled limbs and broken bones that would have littered the common room floor would have made Jack the Ripper a bit queasy.

The whole rhythm section was the purple gang", his mind supplied in a voice that sounded suspiciously like the Captain at her most chirpy.

He stifled the voice directly before pretending he hadn’t heard it in the first place.