Sinister Pair [Scarecrow/Tim]

[Killer Croc]

Since his meeting with Scarecrow, the monstrous Killer Croc couldn't deny just how eager he was. The power offered to him, enough to crush all his enemies? How could one possibly turn such a thing down? Certainly not someone lime Croc. He breathed in power, bathed in it, and he wanted more. He wanted to rip Batman apart, to tear apart his whole bat-familly and send it crumbling to the ground. And from there, Gotham would be his. No one would stop him, not Joker, not Bane. He would be a modern day Godzilla, and woukd act as such. The city would fall in chaos and fear as the great mutant tyrant would take his throne. And then, when Gotham is a pile of rubble, he'd move to Bludhaven, Star, Central. One by one they would sink into the earth, swallowed by hell and left to burn. No one would ever challenge him again. Not even the Justice League.

Sure, Killer Croc's ambitions were large and probably seemed out of reach. But Croc was a stubborn and demanding person. When he wanted something, he did everything to get it and usually, he succeeds. Except, of course, all those times when he didn't succeed. And what did they all have in common? Batman. No Superman, not Martian, not Hawkgirl, or Flash, of even Green Arrow. Batman, just Batman. His number one rival and the first to fall. And no, it wouldn't come quick. That wasn't an option to Killer Croc anymore. That man had caused so much distress, he deserved to suffer. Slowly. Croc knew the rage of the League woukd be great, but he didn't care. And with Scarecrow's help, it didn't scare him in the slightest.

Now his plan was in motion, or Scarecrow's plan. Whatever, it didn't matter. What mattered was, he would benefit from this deal greatly. Killer Croc slipped through the alley with a low, rumbling growl, his lip curling back against his nostrils to reveal a set of yellowed, razor sharp teeth, glinting as they reflected the light of the arched moon. The night was quiet and desolate, with hardly any disturbances. An unhealed occurrence in the deep reaches of Gotham City. His hellish gaze strayed from one end of the alley to the next, before returning to the weak little side door that led into Wayne Enterprises, or atleast, a small lab owned by the Wayne company.

Impatient, a predatory snarl split the quiet, cool air. He'd been waiting long enough for Scarecrow to show, and Killer Croc didn't like waiting not one bit. It was time to act, and act fast. If the Bats were on patrol, he didn't want to be caught out in some stupid alley, having achieved nothing. If Scarecrow really wanted to come along, he would have been here already. If he showed up, he'd just have to follow the trail of destruction. He stretched out a hand and punched through the door with ease, sending it flying into the dark room he'd squeezed into after pulling away some of the brick. Though he heard no alarm for himself, that didn't mean there wasn't one. And it wasn't until he was inside that he realized only Scarecrow knew where and what to look for. Perhaps that was more of a reason to come than Croc's original thought of him simply wanting to seem superior.

Oh wells, no turning back. He ripped through the labs viciously, sending tables and equipment flying. It was better then tripping over everything. It wasn't until he found the vault that he began to settle down, gripping the metal with his claws sunk deep and slowly ripping it away from it's hinges, flinging it backwards to crash through the messy room behind him. Inside were rows of neat metal shelves and drawers, and Croc spotted many formulas and chemicals and heck, he didn't even know what any of them were. His head swung back around toward the vault entrance behind him with a growl as a famillier scent hit his nose, and sauntered back out into the room too look about with a sharp, narrowed gaze. It could be Scarecrow...or it could be a bat.

TAG: Scarecrow or Tim

[Scarecrow]

"Aren't we the anxious little trick or treater!" his voice was cold, rasping, guttural and frightening as first the eyes, red as blood and equally terrible to behold cut through the darkness as the ripper's knife. The figure that came forth was like some mishappen, sinewy skeleton, a bony Scarecrow in all the ways that made such a portent frightening.

When he set foot into the vault in the earth tones of a Scarecrow, dark and faded, ropes entangling his form, his lithe slender arms and a hangman's noose around his neck, he looked as if a revenant returned from the grave, a monster of the harvest. And yet he walked with an unerring desire and purpose that made his movements all the more disconcerting, a wraith, a phantasm, ethereal and unreal as the Slender man or Bloody Mary and yet flesh and blood before the crocodile man, in the darkness of this cold place of science.

His hand was clawed as if bladed, a frightening pair of gloves he so frequently wore, and when things got hairy with the caped crowd they could be used for weapons if need be, thought all knew The Scarecrow's purview was hardly physical confrontation. It was why he brought along the green scaled muscle that now removed the vault door for him. And those hands that cut through the darkness, matched by purpose filled red eyes danced over the form of the vials before him, darting back and forth as he read the labels and searched for the one appropriate for him.

The two that so flanked him wore similar masks but it was quite clear despite their burly phyisques that they were in fact, frightened of the Scarecrow, with a wicked wave of his tendriled hand he commanded them seemingly to watch the door as they returned to the vault door with their own assignments. He walked to the computer, it's green, monochrome display brought an eerie glow to the threadbare mask he wore, finding the appropriate designation and then walking to the shelf to lift the appropriate vial "Here we are!"

When he did there was an overt sense of accomplishment and he had to stop himself, his body from quaking with anticipation as to what was going to happen. Having completely forgotten about- or not particularly cared about- the presence of the reptile man as he did he turned from the vault nearly bumping into the large creature then.

"Your assistance in this experiment has been invaluable Croc. However, in your haste you've tripped a silent alarm. So I suggest calculated hasty retreat." his voice carried with it a measure of assurance that he was not being dishonest despite the fact that a wrecking ball could've done his job, and not gotten any kind of remuneration for it. As well as clear haste in his tone given that the buffoonery of this dolt had probably alerted the local authorities. Not that the boys in blue would be a problem for one such as Jonathan Crane, rather, he knew the first on the scene would be someone in cape and cowl.



[glow=red,2,300]TAG: Nightwing[/glow]