Absonditus Metus - Hidden Fear Part 3

He first saw her when walking to his Physics lecture on Tuesday morning.

Not that he'd known that he'd seen her, but he had seen her none the less.

It had been a relatively nice morning, cool and a bit breezy, but for late September in Gotham, that was nice weather. He'd worn his scarf, an article of clothing he never seemed to leave behind in this dreadfully bleak city, so that his neck would stay warm through the holes that lined his jacket's nape. The wind never seemed to die down when he was outside, and it was for that reason that he'd started taking the very path that he was on now. At least the trees blocked a bit of the weather out, if only just a fraction.

It wasn't really bothersome anymore, just habit really that he'd started walking through the park-like side of campus during this time, ever since the wind had picked up and the fall season had slowly progressed further and further into the oncoming winter. The trees and shrubs blocked out a good portion of the elements, so keeping warm was easier for him in this element than it was on the hard cement walk ways and mental lined trails that littered campus. It also didn't hurt that he found the odd trees and the foliage calming and beautiful.

And besides him, there were few others around now.

Jonathan knew that others were aware of his…antisocial tendencies and often times odd behavior. He was perfectly fine with that, actually, since it allowed him space and time to himself, as well as significant breaks from the bullying intentions of his roommate and his idiotic friends. (Lance Hastings and his jock friends never saw fit to give him even a moments bit of reprieve, and Greg, his other roommate, could only be there to stop so much.) It was for this reason that he often didn't stick his neck out, in a manner of speaking, to talk to other people in his classes. In the end, they were more than likely to reject him anyways.

In fact, if someone were to ask him about it, he would have responded with his common cold glare, which, of course, meant he was beyond content and overly ecstatic at the prospect of a night alone to scourer the library's contents. Alone…all alone, even when he'd made the taxing effort to befriend others; and still walking to school by himself. It couldn't be any better than that, not in his opinion.

Until the noises started, that is.

They were low at first, just a soft murmur of movement and noise within the branches above his head, something he could pass off as a squirrel or a figment of his recently over active imagination. But as he continued to walk, his ratty bag swung over his shoulders tightly, he could hear them grow louder…and closer. And even if he wanted to ignore them he could not, because they were familiar to him, so ingrained into his brain that he was quite sure he'd never forget them. No, these noises weren't a figment of his brain…and they weren't pleasant.

Because he knew what they were.

He'd always know what they were…

A flock of birds…very large ones too, if the noises were anything to go by.

But he couldn't stop here, no, not in the center of the potential flock of birds that was threatening him unseen from the tree tops above him. He couldn't stop somewhere he had no control, no say, no defense. It would not end like it had so many times in Georgia…he would not allow it. He'd beaten it there, and he was going to beat it here too. Birds be damned.

So he increased his pace swiftly, feet striking semi-damp pavement in the early September morning, wanting nothing more than to be someplace else on campus…his room even, with or without Lance or Greg. Bullies he could deal with, had dealt with, but birds…he'd never really been able to face them before. At least, not out in the open like this. Not with a fighting, or in this case running, chance.

Not that he'd ever gotten the chance, because at the exact moment that he started to move along the path again, something large and dark swooped down towards him, aiming itself directly at his face. Whatever it was took firm hold of his glasses in its passing arc and stripped his face of them, leaving him temporarily blind and more that a bit disoriented. He couldn't see much without those stupid things, as his vision was fuzzy at best, so he couldn't quite see the culprit or where they had gone too. But, he could hear clearly the sound of skittering, like bird's feet, across the pathway before him.
Jonathan froze as his eyes found the dark, blurred shaped blob on the path before him.

It was a bird…a rather large bird.

A bird that had his glasses.

He could faintly make out the glittering form of them as the bird moved, the lightly catching the large and round frames easily, as if mocking him. He was more than certain that whatever sort of avian pest this was, it was larger than a common sparrow or finch. No, this monster was at least the size of a parrot, if not larger…and he was fairly sure he wasn't exaggerating.

It was a large, dark bird then, with the Hell-bent intent of making his life a walking, living, breathing nightmare. Did the birds back home somehow migrate with him to Gotham? Certainly not! That was just…preposterous, right? No, Jonathan refused to believe that his brain had come up with such a childish explanation to an entirely common problem, and that this bird was out to get him. Normal birds didn't just attack people out of the blue and steal their glasses! In fact, he'd almost bet that the bird hadn't taken them, that it had nearly knocked them off his face and was now sitting by them. Yes, that was it…

So slowly he got down to his knees to pat about towards the bird, hoping to scar it off with his movements enough so that he could relocate and collect his glasses once more. But every time he seemed to get close to the bird, it'd hop backwards, taking the shiny form of what he thought were his spectacles with it. That flying feather duster had indeed taken his glasses!

"Give those back! I require them to see!" He snarled at the thing, trying anything within his limited, visionless power to do to get them back. But the bird didn't seem to want to release them.

He tried again.

"I said, give those back!" This time he followed through with a lunge after his shouting, which only seemed to get him a nice bed in the dirt and absolutely nothing to show for it. "Blast you, those are mine!"

But it didn't matter anymore what Jonathan had said, when he heard the cawing from around him in the bushes as well as the trees. They weren't alone anymore, and without the aid of his glasses, he most certainly couldn't see to defend himself.

Needless to say, he was out of the park faster that he'd have liked to have been, his face still without the adorning set of glasses it usually wore.

Absonditus Metus - Hidden Fear Part 2

The bus ride had gone relatively undisturbed since the older man in the tweed jacket had gotten off, leaving Jonathan alone in his silent thoughts, swirls of books passages and quotes from an author he almost detested but loved all the same, swirling in his mind. He'd forgone reading the book since the man had left, unable to concentrate for longer than a few moments due to the drifting thoughts he'd gotten. Now he was examining the ends of his rather long scarf, one he'd picked up back in Georgia before he'd left from an elderly farm wife who probably mistook him for someone else going off to college.

But he'd accepted the gift none the less, his manners and self-preservation kicking in as he did so, even going so far as to put it on for her, regardless of the hot Georgia sun and temperature as it pressed in around him and his suffocating, stick like frame. It was a deep maroon color, something he'd never worn before, but the woman insisted was 'his color' or some such nonsense. Even now he was silently thankful for the forethought; especially since the weather was far cooler here then it had ever been at home, even during their winters.

And with what he'd seen so far since arriving here, it was only going to get colder in the months to come.

He was just hoping his sighs weren't getting increasingly audible. He was getting enough strange looks as it was, what with the way he was dressed and all…not to mention his luggage and the shabby condition it was in, much like his own self. All he really needed was yet another reason for people to run screaming in the other direction from him, not like they didn't already do that.

That thought alone made Jonathan's lips twitch in a smirk behind his scarf, which was now pulled up and secured around the lower part of his face, concealing his mouth and neck from the frigid air pouring in from the gap in the window on his left. At least they couldn't see him react to his own thoughts, or at least not that he could see from the spot he was in. It didn't matter anyways; his stop was coming up next, according to the map pasted above the cabin entrance.

Although he wasn't sure how to get the bus to work in his favor upon getting on it, he now knew how to stop it at his request simply by watching what others did around him. It was a simple trick he'd learned over the years, one that got him less punishment if he picked up on subtle things most people wouldn't watch or care about. (Things like what the bullies talked about in school, their facial expressions, how his Great Granny walked even. All indicators of something that could potentially be life threatening.) That's how he knew that going into Psychology was the right thing for him…

The dim bulb flickered briefly before flashing out as he pulled the cord that would get the bus to eventually stop, the squeal of breaks and the audible ding of an overused bell the only signal to his arrival to Gotham University.

Yes, Jonathan thought, it was going to be a good start to a brand new life.

Absonditus Metus - Hidden Fear Part 1

He'd come by train to Gotham City.

He'd come by train, and it had been a very long, very tiring ride.

Not that his life had been anything but long and tiring, mind you, but Jonathan Crane had found this trip far too long for his liking. This was the first time he'd ever even been out of Georgia, that he could remember, and he planned on never going back…if he could help it.

There was nothing for him back there, in that old decaying mansion that was no longer filled with anything more than rotting wood and dead memories. He'd sold off everything he could from the place, furniture, heirlooms, and valuables if they remained; anything that he could potentially use to get him as far away from his own personal Hell called Arlen, Georgia. That's how he'd found his records.

And why he was headed to Gotham City.

According to the paperwork and all the letters he'd found stashed in his Great Granny's personal writing desk in the corner of her now vacant bedroom, he was the illegitimate son of her great-grand daughter Karen and an elusive man by the name of Gerald Crane…who now worked as a construction manager in Gotham. (Secretly he'd tracked the man down, not that it was overly hard to do.) No surprise there, that he wasn't wanted, not with the way they had treated him all his life. Leaving him alone in that house with her for so long without so much as a word of contact…

What was a surprise was the fact that according to the return addresses on most of the letters and envelopes, most of his family was now located in Gotham or in the suburbs around it. So, that's where he'd planned on going, packing every little thing he owned and selling off everything he could for funding, including a lot of the books in the library.

This was why he now found himself on the Gotham train platform, his measly luggage in one hand, making his way towards the bus stop that would take him to the University. Hopefully it would be there soon, though by the looks of the other patrons waiting along-side him, he doubted that it was ever on time. That was okay, he had all night, and he was here nearly a week early anyways. It was a good thing that the Dean had approved his early arrival, otherwise he'd have had no place to stay. He really couldn't afford to live in a hotel for even a night, let alone an entire week.

It seemed like hours to him, before the bus came, when in reality it had only been forty-five minutes since they'd disembarked from the train. Forty-five long, drug out minutes, spent with him sitting on his luggage, an old book being leafed through as he tucked his scarf further around his long neck. It was only fall here in Gotham, but already the weather was turning cold, much colder then he'd ever felt before, and he didn't have the proper form of attire for such a chill climate. As soon as he came into some money, he'd have to find some decent used clothing, along with other things he'd need to survive here. If not, that he was more than certain he'd freeze to death in the process.

But this city wasn't completely without its charms, he reflected tiredly, no, not at all. It had numerous new libraries to discover and explore, shop upon shop of new and used books, clothing, anything he could think up, he was more than certain he could find. There were even shops for people just like him, people who had not much to live on but more than enough ambition to fuel themselves with. If only he had the money…

But he would, soon.

He'd be starting his new job at the college the day after his arrival, today, and would start looking around for another one for part time hours whenever they could give them to him. He could work and go to school, enough so to keep his head above water and partially out of debt...though he doubted it for long, but it couldn't hurt none the less. But every little bit helped, and so it was with growing confidence that Jonathan Crane boarded the overly late bus.

xXx

The ride started off peacefully enough, though Jonathan had never ridden public transit in his life, or a bus for that matter, before today, he hid his wonderment well. And though it reeked of human body odor and a multitude of other foul excrement, and there was a hobo sleeping on the last seat all the way in the back, Jonathan still found it fascinating. Overall, it sort of added to the charm of the city, which served to only douse his flickering flame of curiosity in gasoline.

Even the littlest of things would peak his interest. Like how the people would spread themselves out when presented with the option, or how those left without a spaced out seat would chose their chairs and partners carefully for transit. How they would weigh other people's worth based on few minute observations and a multitude of human stereotypes that he knew they all had. It was intriguing to watch the men find other male partners to sit near, while women sought out other women…and it was utterly attention grabbing.

So much so, that he didn't see the elderly man sit down next to him in the vacant outer seat in his queue. So much so that he didn't see the very man glance over at him and smile in pure mirth and joy at his wonderment, or how he removed his hat and set it in his lap before tucking the legal college-headed print paper into his jacket once more. He did, however, notice the man when Jonathan was promptly hit from one side when the bus lurched into motion, causing him to lose the tight grip he had on the book still in his hands. It went flying to the floor, only stopping to rest at the feet of the elderly man a seat away from him.

Jonathan's eyes fell to the floor as he bent down to retrieve it, mumbling his apologies as he went, his still southern accented voice sounding odd in the stuffy bus compartment, even too his ears. His cheeks were burning; he could feel them, just as much as he could feel the eyes of the older man watching him as he moved jerkily to the floor in a graceless bend. If only he hadn't been so careless to drop the book in the first place, then he wouldn't have had to open his mouth at all and let out that ridiculous sounding voice. It was the bane of his existence, much like his current monetary situation and the fact that he hadn't a clue in a world this big.

Jonathan tried to move quicker, but the man's hand beat him to the book.

Jonathan's eyes snapped up as the hand moved back, drawing his book with it, slowly moving up and towards the elderly man now clutching one of the very last few remaining possessions he carried with him from the manor. The man…the man had his book!

"Ghosts…now that's a name I haven't heard in a very long time." The man said fondly, turning the old and rather ragged book over in his hands. "And it is in good condition too. You must take very good care of this book."

The man smiled as Jonathan attempted to straighten himself out, long limbs awkward as he moved to face the man now holding his book, attempting to hold in a variety of feelings as they made their way across his mind and face. He narrowed bright blue eyes behind coke bottle frames taped at the bridge, trying desperately to figure out the motivation behind speaking to someone like him. Not even his own family wanted to do that… So then why did a man on a bus in a city he hadn't even been in for a day want to speak to him?

"I try to take very good care of my books." Jonathan decided to say finally, wincing at how his 'my' came out as 'mia' and his vowels far too long for his liking. Though he knew he was speaking quietly, he couldn't help but feel that everyone could hear him. "They're one of the few possessions I value above all else."

"Indeed, a good book is the only place in which you can examine a fragile thought without breaking it, or explore an explosive idea without fear it will go off in your face. It is one of the few havens remaining where man's mind can get both provocation and privacy." The man responded calmly, fingers moving over the spine gently as he looked the book over.

Jonathan paused.

"Edward P. Morgan, correct?" He asked, eyebrow arched at the quote the man had just presented him with. It wasn't an overly used one, or a favored author, but it was one he'd heard none the less.

"Brilliant, just brilliant son, and you are correct. I'm impressed, not many people are familiar with his work." The man's smile was enlightening and encouraging, as if he was truly proud. It made Jonathan feel just a bit warmer, if only just. "Tell me, what about this one? It is what you read when you don't have to that determines what you will be when you can't help it."

"Oscar Wilde, of course." Jonathan said, a smile threatening at the corners of his mouth behind the scarf, just barely seen. "Though I haven't quite finished The Importance of Being Earnest just yet, I did read The Picture of Dorian Gray a few months back. His work is rather interesting, I must say."

"You will have to fix that, of course. Finishing the book, I mean." The man held out the book, eyes searching Jonathan's as his head rose to meet him finally, eyes hesitant but intrigued. "And don't worry about the accent, son, it will go away with time. Try not to worry about it too much. It isn't as noticeable as you think it is."

Jonathan could only nod as he accepted the book back, the smile dropping from the corners of his mouth as he turned his eyes away from the man's face at mention of his accent. He was trying too hard to control it, to break himself of the habit it still had lingering within him. It was a stain, a constant reminder of the torture he'd gone through…and he didn't want it. Not here, not at his fresh start.

"Just remember, the scholar only knows how dear these silent, yet eloquent, companions of pure thoughts and innocent hours become in the season of adversity. When all that is worldly turns to dross around us, these only retain their steady value." He smiled and patted Jonathan on the shoulder fondly, like a grandparent would do with a smaller child, or what Jonathan had always imagined to be that way. "Rely on others, but most importantly, believe in yourself. You can do anything you put your mind to."

And the man got up to get off the bus, the lingering smell of tobacco, dust, and books trailing in his wake, the impressions and words of Washington Irving stinging Jonathan like a blow to the face.

Oh, he most definitely knew that.