Genius Loci Arkham Asylum

[lepouvantail]

For years, people have wondered the mysteries of Arkham Asylum. There have been many rumors about it, how the creator himself went mad, that it was haunted by a demon, that the very land it was built upon was cursed.

Over time, its reputation grew, where cases of psychotics were sent back over and over again in hopes of rehabilitation.

For reasons unknown, the asylum went into lock down, helped in part by a raging snowstorm outside. It was rumored that even the Batman had been unable to get inside, for why else would the inmates be roaming the halls, with corpses piling and rotting, with the most feared of inmates claiming parts of the asylum as their own domain?

Most have claimed their territories, created a home for themselves. Others strive to make sense of the new atmosphere. Over time, the minds of the others have deteriorated. The Joker is still out and about; most others are still imprisoned here.

Within the madness, only the Riddler, who had taken over the security wing, has any clue as to what's really going on---and very select few are able to get in to see him. The hospital wing belongs to the Scarecrow, while Poison Ivy has sunk her roots into the grounds, but even she has not been able to leave, compelled, instead, to remain here and protect what little plantlife there is.

In desperation to keep his mind, the Music Meister has sought to create a masterwork dedicated to Arkham and its stars. His muse, a most fickle mistress, who at times had helped him create beautiful music, flowing with passion as each Arkhamite's role was determined, had recently stopped visiting when it came to write down the Riddler's role. She hated him, called him a traitor, refused to sing again for him.

Where one muse had fallen, another muse rose.

Through happenstance, the Scarecrow, pleased by such an epic of madness, had agreed to inspire him through fear. The prima donna fell, and the Master of Fear stepped up to take her place.

Comments

Balls, Billy. Balls.

[lepouvantail]

He returned after a few moments, having to actually search.

Damn scavengers. If Jonathan ever found out who had broken into his sanctum and stolen from him, a dose of fear serum would be the last thing they'd need worry about.

He was already opening a package to get a towelette to wipe it down, as proper cleaning supplies were difficult to come by...or being converted to fear serum depending on their ingredients. And failing that, booby traps to poison intruders at certain entrances.

"Have you created anything more?" he asked, moving to take the vial and get a dose measured.

It was to Billy's fortune that he hadn't noticed the liquid line had dipped.

[hypnotic_patter]

His breath was already starting to quicken. What Crane would do to him should he discover the theft...Billy grabbed the fear and held on to it. Fear was his inspiration. It must be embraced, not rejected.

He started rolling up his sleeve, eyes on the needle. "No. You have my notebook, as you decreed, and I haven't written outside your sanctum."

[lepouvantail]

"Good."

When he was pleased, the injections were always a lot less intentionally painful, and today was no exception. It was best to have the Music Meister at his peak for the horrors he was about to inspire.

Jonathan carefully injected him, then went to get the notebook from the safe.

"Now," he said, "allow your muse to bring about Arkham's song."

[hypnotic_patter]

Billy had already curled up on the floor when Jonathan returned. He took deep breaths, letting the poison course through his system and bless him with its blinding light. The notebook was accepted into trembling hands.

"First comes the screaming," he mumbled, opening to a fresh page and setting his pencil to it. He didn't need to write yet. The fear would handle it for him. "Always the screaming, for you, the screaming and then the silence."

[lepouvantail]

"Yes," Jonathan replied, already with a devious smirk. "The God of Fear relishes in your cries of anguish."

He knew well the pages would be filled, the story continued. It was as much his masterpiece as it was Billy's---after all, he had provided the means to create...and he would see it to its perfection.

[hypnotic_patter]

The pen began to move. Billy's eyes closed, the better to take in the horrific visions.

"The silence is more agonizing than the screaming. White figures, unmoving on the stage, staring at me. Their throats are torn open." The pen scrawled in staggered music to fill in the music, desperate to keep away the horrible stillness. "They bleed. I can see their vocal cords in shreds, torn out in vengeance--no, penitence. Penitence for sins."

He clutched at his own throat in sympathy.

[lepouvantail]

He sat and listened, watching as Billy wrote, smirking a bit.

"I've always known that was one of your truest terrors," he said.

Jonathan stood, moving to lean over him like the overgrown vulture he was.

"...Why not homage it?"

[hypnotic_patter]

"Hissing...no music, just horrible noises. Tuneless. Rasping, wet." His free hand clutched at his own throat in sympathy to the pain of the twitching figures. "They are unworthy. They are guilty. They are denied perfect song."

[lepouvantail]

"As should only be fitting," Jonathan replied, "for it is only for the elite."

Already, he was imagining the horror, smirking with wicked glee.

[hypnotic_patter]

"Shame," whines Billy. "Such shame." It's the guilt of his crime that's fueling his visions. He has stolen fire from the God of Fear and he fears he will be punished for it by having his greatest fear inflicted upon him. He fears for his voice. "Where is the music? I must, I need, please..."

Tears form in his eyes.