What the Storm Brings --OUTDATED--

Part 1

The storm shook the island relentlessly, and had already more or less isolated Arkham from the outside world for a whole day by the time that Warden Quincy Sharp found himself staring at the guard in his office. The poor man was soaked through and through, both from the endless rain and a strange grey liquid that looked far heavier than it should have, and wrung his hands nervously while shifting from foot to foot.

"Could you repeat that?" Sharp asked after taking a deep breath.

Jolting slightly at the warden's voice, the guard nodded quickly. "Yes, sir. We found someone down by the pier –a kid, it looks like– and he's seriously injured and..." He snapped his mouth shut and forced a shuddering breath of his own before continuing. "We took him up to Medical, but figured that it was best to inform you. Couldn't do it over radio from the storm's interference."

Sharp nodded slowly, then allowed a small frown to cross his face. "Are they an inmate?"

"No, sir, never seen him before, and he's wearing completely different stuff anyways."

"Very well. Innocent until proven guilty, after all, yes? I want to be kept updated on his state, but there's little reason to deny someone care simply for landing on the wrong shoreline."

~*~|Not One Straw out of Place|~*~

Word of the new arrival spread like wildfire among the inmates, each eager to learn just what sorts of tricks or outright strangeness the rookie possessed. An unlucky few passing through the medical centre had already caught glimpses of the newcomer; they returned with vague and sometimes conflicting descriptions of a lean figure with eyes that may or may not gleam like an animal's, young –although no-one was quite able to pinpoint how young, yet– and prone to literally snapping at the staff when awake. No-one even seemed to be able to learn just what was keeping the newcomer there, as conversation on the topic rarely sparked for long enough.

As such, when Doctor Jonathan Crane found himself sitting on the bed beside the talk of the asylum with his arm and ribs in the process of healing from an unfortunate encounter with a guard's unrestrained temper, he resolved to learn what those before him did not.

Soft snores could be heard from the other bed, although he rather thought that it sounded a little more like the purring of a cat than one of the most undignified sounds a human is capable of producing, drawing a quiet scoff from him. In many ways, Jonathan was glad that the other occupant of the room was asleep for now, as it allowed him to observe them when at their most vulnerable... and it also kept noise to a minimum.

The newcomer slept coiled up like the cat they so sounded like, limbs tangled in the thin blanket and head tucked somewhere out of sight. Murmurs that would have been inaudible, had there been a single other person present, could be heard every now and then, and Jonathan felt an eyebrow rise when he realised that the murmuring –what little he could catch of it– was not in any language he'd ever heard. He hummed softly to himself, one corner of his mouth twitching upwards. It would either be intriguing or infuriating, once they actually woke up.

When a young nurse came in to check on the two of them, Jonathan didn't have to try very hard to feign disinterest, merely complying with the mundane requests to 'take your pills, Mister Crane', 'does this hurt, Mister Crane'... For once, he didn't even snarl back at her that he had earned his doctorate and should be respected as such. After all, what he was really after were the scenes that were sure to unfold in front of him, if he just waited...

The nurse checked on the apparatuses hooked up to the newcomer first, then –once she was fully satisfied– opening her mouth. "It's time to wake up, young man." She didn't touch him at all, something Jonathan filed away for later contemplation. "Come now," she urged in the sweet tone that all nurses in Arkham were trained to use. "You don't want to sleep the day away, do you?"