Jonathan Crane (doctorcrane) wrote,
Jonathan Crane

November 29th, 1995 - 1:43 AM

((OOC: For the record, it should be noted that Crane's personal journal is a paper one. Therefore, no amount of hacking is going to get you access to this baby. However, should someone steal Crane's journal ... well ... you get the picture.))

Up until this point, this journal has been a record of notes on my experiments, however, I think tonight merits a change from the tried and true. Mostly because I need a place to record my thoughts since, obviously, I can't talk to anyone about what's troubling me. Nor would I want to, if I could, I suppose.

And what, exactly, could bother a doctor of psychology?

Two words.

Max Shreck.

Apparently, someone leaked my, ah, secret to him, and although he wouldn't tell me who - he said it was rude - I can venture a guess, based on what I've learned about Mister Shreck and what I've seen. One of the Red Triangle Gang. Not Ramirez or Hanover, though - they're too far gone by this point to do much. Perhaps one of the other gang members? Putting two and two together for them, it seems, is one of the things they are intellectually capable of, apparently.

I suppose I could consider myself lucky that they're considered insane, and therefore unworthy of listening to.

But even beyond that immediate inconvience - which I'm still uncertain how to proceed on, now that I know - there's this. Mister Shreck offered me a job, for lack of better wording. He needs a paper signed, no strings attached, and in return he's prepared to offer me funding. Funding which I've been desperately seeking for months as one may have gathered from my notes. And yes, I told him I'd do it - desperate times call for desperate measures - but I'm uncertain how to proceed.

He suggested I use the gas and while I agree, as that seems to be my only advantage at the moment, it's somewhat difficult to get someone suffering from a dellusional episode to do much of anything, let alone sign something. I suppose I could use the gas ex pos facto but then the question of my identity comes into play. Would he recall or be made to recall who, exactly, it was who attacked him and why? The mask I use in my experiments to shield myself from the effects of the gas might keep me from being recognized, should he remember, but I still find myself wanting something more substantial to cover my tracks.

Perhaps I should scout around for something to wear for the evening - if Gotham has it's share of costume wearing lunatics, who says I can't join their ranks, if only for a night?

Which leaves only the contract itself. It would have to be notarized before the authorities found him, to keep suspicion away from Mister Shreck. Maybe, if I were careful, I could slip it to one of the secretaries at Arkham and pass it off as late court paperwork that I needed in a hurry. And hopefully, since I rarely rush my paperwork, I could get away with it just this once.

We'll see.

I'll consider it more tomorrow morning when I'm more awake.
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