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crane-fearitself · 4 years

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“....and then Mrs. Turpin picked up my precious Fluffles and carried him into her house. HER house! The sheer audacity of that woman!” Crane winced as spit washed across his face. He let out a deep sigh, wiping his cheek with the handkerchief from his chest pocket. Why did he get back into psychology after all these years? The Bat is dead! He should be robbing banks or engaging in other high-class villainous activities. He should really give some of his old rogue friends a ring after this session. Of course, if he did that, he would have to let them in on some of the action he’s been dipping his fingers in too. He collected a glass of water from the small table next to him, and passed it to his patient. “Mrs. Durfain, please.” He spoke softly, offering a slight smile to the clearly distressed woman in front of him. “Have a drink.” Johnathan fumbled with his keys as he attempt to lock up for the day. Sundays were his short-day, and he has prided himself on self-care and maximizing this free time. Upon turning from his doorstep, he placed his keys in one pocket of his coat, and pulled out a wallet. The photo of Mrs. Durfain stared at him as he helped himself to the bills left within it. He gently touched her face as he closed the leather device. As he stepped onto the streets of Gotham, he quickly found himself knocked to the ground, his keys and the wallet sprawling to the earth next to him. Johnathan looked up at his assailant. “Well!” he spat. “An apology, along with a hand, would be the least someone could offer me here! Just who do you think you are?” ( @fallengothamstarters )

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