No Ordinary Venue, 3/23 PM - private room - Scarecrow, Bane

While he waited for the Scarecrow to arrive, Bane prowled around the private conference room he'd reserved at the back of the Iceberg Lounge. Bird had already gone over it with a fine toothed comb, checking for 'surprises,' but the big crimelord prowled anyway. He didn't really expect there to be any -- something like that would cause Cobblepot's rep as a discreet and neutral broker to vanish overnight -- but he'd never been long on trust to begin with and it made him edgy being on somebody else's turf.

Still, neutral ground had been as necessary for this meeting as the meeting itself had been.

Initially, when one of the Goblins had gone missing in the Narrows, resolution of the problem had been left to Trogg. But when an investigation had revealed Scarecrow as the culprit, that changed the equation. The mad psychiatrist was no mere gangster wannabe, he had once very nearly brought Gotham to its knees. Dealing with him was a matter for Bane himself. And, since the prospect of mounting an ad-lib raid on the base of a master poisoner had little appeal -- and even less chance of success -- 'dealing with' boiled down to actually doing a deal.

Completing his fourth circuit of the room in as many minutes, Bane brought himself to a halt at the head of the table. The flex of muscles made the fake tattoos adorning his bare arms leap and dance like black flames as he rolled his wrist to check his watch. The numbers ticked steadily on to the top of the hour. It was almost time.

The night that had been the domain of the criminal and the corrupt was owned by them no longer. The Batman had seen to that well enough. To skulk around the shadows in the day was what Gotham’s criminals had been reduced to. Dr Jonathan Crane knew this lesson well enough, but his uncharacteristic emergence from his “lair” in the dead of night was a deviation from his regular routine. After the incident with the bat in the Narrows, Jonathan had become a rather paranoid individual. He took few chances and few risks. He had no strong desire to become an inmate in his own asylum, after all. He couldn’t imagine that that would be a very pleasant experience.

But this was a special occasion, for he had received a very special invitation. One of his most secret shipments that supplied him with raw materials had somehow been intercepted. Intellectually, Crane was impressed. Though he himself was a creature of habit, he had taken great pains to keep his shipments both random and elusive so as not to attract attention. The human mind had evolved an impressive capability to detect patterns, even when confronted with the purity of randomness. The mind always sought a pattern with which to anchor itself. After a thorough examination of his shipment he had determined that nothing had been tampered with. Only an intriguing note had been left.

It was a note about Subject 232 who, truth be told, was now more akin to a trembling ball of nerves than he was to the man he had been. Such a shame. Jonathan had not realized that he had belonged to somebody, though in retrospect, he should have realised he was different than his usual subjects. His initial blood samples had come out clean. But nevertheless, it was an opportunity. The fact that he had been clean had reduced the chances of his results being tampered by an unknown substance. Good, clean data had been the result of his actions though, and it had been worth the risk. He had made the judgement call. The benefits outweighed the disadvantages.

And now he was here, at a night club of all places, to wallow in the disadvantages of his decision about Subject 232. Alas, that such things were the cost of good science. He perceived that the note itself had not contained threats or promises of violence, but the tone of the whole communicated the simple message that to not accept would be very unwise. There had been instructions to come alone, but whoever followed that old custom? Jonathan had seen enough television to know that you never really came to these sorts of meetings truly alone. He had people that might appear should the need arise, and he had armed himself in his usual custom. Unobtrusively and secretly.

Upon being escorted to the room, Jonathan was immediately gratified at his decision to not obey. The man before him was of such a gargantuan size that Crane was taken aback. The good doctor was a thin and unassuming fellow not built for crushing other men’s heads with his bare hands. This was no excuse however not to observe good manners and etiquette. “Ah, Mr. Bane, a pleasure to finally meet you. How are you this evening?” He extended a hand for the usual precursory shake among men.

“Ah, Mr. Bane, a pleasure to finally meet you. How are you this evening?” He extended a hand for the usual precursory shake among men.

Bane swept an assessing look over his 'guest. Tall, thin, no muscle tone to speak of, the man didn't hold himself or move like a fighter -- or even someone comfortable with direct physical confrontation. To be expected of a poisoner, the big man thought. His distaste for poisoners was exceeded only by his distaste for doctors who conducted experiments on those in their charge, but his personal feelings would only get in the way of his current objective, so he gripped the proffered hand with no more than friendly strength. Still and all, he kept the man's profession in mind, and the hand itself discreetly double-gloved.

"Doctor Crane," Bane said, "the pleasure is mine, despite the regrettable circumstances." Any smile would be invisible behind his mask, so he injected it into his voice, along with an educated Spanish accent. The crude Mexican wrestler routine would be worse than useless here -- the mad psychologist might be cautious of physical strength while he was in its presence, but would genuinely respect only intelligence. "Please," he motioned in invitation. "Have a seat. I'm delighted you were able to take time away from your important work to accept my invitation. I'm sure we'll be able to sort out this unfortunate misunderstanding to our mutual satisfaction and get you swiftly and safely back to your laboratory."

The big man was likewise sure that Crane had ignored the injunction to come alone. There was no way the man before him would willingly venture out without protection. Bane gave a mental shrug. He had no intention of violating the metaphorical flag of truce hung over the meeting. And, should Crane decide to do so, Bird's intel indicated the doctor's only muscle was some remnants of Falcone's 'soldiers.' Not sufficient to be a threat.

Bane waited for the Scarecrow to take a seat before moving toward his own chair.