i can't remember the good old days.

[bamboozlement]

who: Jaybirb and YOU!
what: Intro log; catch-all for October.
when: Right meow.
where: Around Quarantine - see prompts for specifics.
warnings: Will update as needed!


are all the good times getting gone? (working; ranting and raving)

[Jason would be a lot more surprised about turning up in Quarantine if this weren't more or less his exact brand of luck. It figures that after watching his team of Outlaws get sucked into a portal to who knows where, Jason would find himself in a fairly similar position.

Artemis and Bizarro aren't here, though. He's checked the network. Saw at least one other name he recognized, too, and decided against sending a message. What good would it do?

He throws himself into his work instead, this ridiculous job he's been assigned as a bouncer for some factory-turned-club called Ranting and Raving, and that's a Z-grade pun if he's ever heard one - and believe him, he's heard plenty. He pulls as many shifts as he can stand, because it gives him something to do that isn't driving himself crazy(er) over what happened in Gotham just before he turned up here, and the cacophony of beats is loud enough to drown out whatever thoughts do manage to spring up. It's not ideal employment, but there's enough inherent threat assessment to hold Jason's interest; he knows which telltale signs to look for that cry concealed weapons, intoxication, trouble.

The fact that he looks like he's already done a few rounds with a rowdy crowd doesn't hurt his image, either - deep bruising over his right eye, a split lip, small stitches over his eyebrow and cheekbone. Jason's had enough practice to know how to hold himself to hide the bruised ribs that he refuses to treat properly, because - well. He deserves that pain, doesn't he?]

No sandals, no hats. Look, pal, I don't make the rules here - I just make sure you follow 'em.

they come and go and go and come and go (brooding; community housing, floor 9)

[He'd say he's slept in worse places, but that implies that he actually sleeps, so.

It's not a bad room. There's privacy, but sometimes it feels like the walls are slowly closing in on him, and Jason escapes to the balcony, if it's not already occupied by anyone else on the floor. He can lose track of the excess time here, staring out at the unfamiliar skyline. His expression defaults to a deep frown when he thinks no one is watching him.]

i've got a lot of friends who are stars but some are just black holes (wildcard)

[Want to run into Jason somewhere else? Hit me up at fibroplastic or journal PM to discuss!]

Comments

[bamboozlement]

[Thing is, Jason did consider calling. Texting, at least, but what would he say? I’m sorry. I missed you. I screwed everything up. How long has it been since Jason left Roy, dissolved their partnership and walked away, never once looked back? The longer the silence between them stretched out, the easier it became to tolerate, and the stronger Jason’s belief that Roy was better off without him grew. Each of the dozens of times he’s almost tried to make contact with Roy since his arrival ended in Jason talking himself out of it. Funny how he can leap off the top of a skyscraper without 100 percent certainty of where he’ll land but doing something as mundane as trying to repair his relationship with his best friend scares him into inaction.

So he hadn’t tried to contact Roy, in spite of the ache that’s lived in his heart since the last time they’d spoken. This moon’s a big place, big enough that Jason figured that if he were lucky, their paths would never cross, and Roy would never know he was here. Jason could become the ghost he feels like most of the time since he left Gotham.

Unfortunately for Jason, his luck tends to run from bad to worse to nonexistent, and that’s no clearer than when finds himself face to face with Roy. He meets Roy’s gaze, unflinchingly accepting the fury and pain he hears in his words, because he deserves this, and he knows it.

Maybe I underestimated the time table on him getting over it, he thinks, and finally looks away, scanning what’s left of the crowd for a distraction. He assumes Roy is referring to him being back in the context of Jason leaving him when he left their little heroes-for-hire operation. The idea that Jason has been here before and left doesn’t cross his mind.]

I’ve been a little busy, Roy. Drunk ravers aren’t gonna look after themselves.

[And a distraction quickly presents itself in the form of a young woman who is probably two drinks past what’s sensible climbing on top of one of the tables to show off her decidedly unimpressive dancing skills for her three friends sitting around the table, cheering her on. Jason cups his hands around his mouth and shouts at her to get down, pointing sternly and gesturing toward the floor once he has her attention.]

[shootsoff]

[In the moment, Roy is furious, and there's no question that he's hurt. Every person who turns their back on him and walks away hurts just a little bit more, and Roy's had a whole life full of people turning their backs, walking away, telling him either directly or indirectly that he's not enough. Not good enough or strong enough or smart enough or fun enough or just plain enough to keep their attention, their loyalty, their friendship. People seem to slide in and out of his life and sometimes trying to hang onto them feels like trying to catch water in his hands. Hopeless, everything slipping through his fingers.

So Jason had left without saying good-bye, had come back without saying hello, and maybe he could deal with that if they hadn't been connecting again, if they hadn't been repairing things. They'd been friends again. Roy had forgiven him, in every way but the stupid sarcastic jokes they'd still made about it. When Jason was hurt and vulnerable and trapped, he'd called Roy, trusted Roy, he'd felt like they were best friends again. Like their friendship mattered. Like he mattered.

Apparently not. And damn, that really hurts. The anger is more a cover than anything else. Something strong to shield the vulnerability of the whole thing.

Jason's flippant joke about drunk ravers doesn't exactly help, when it comes to the anger, though. Roy's mouth tightens slightly as Jason yells at the girl, exhales in a rush, waits until Jason's done yelling at teenagers, his hands clenched into fists. Heart pounding, head spinning a little, he doesn't even bother trying to hide how upset he is, because a flippant comment isn't going to cover this.]

Fine, whatever. You know, I really thought we were starting to get close again. Stupid me, as usual.

[Turning on his heel, he stomps out of the club. Makes it halfway home again, at a dead run, before he changes his mind. It's pathetic, but he can't leave it like that, he wants to know why. What he'd done this time.

Roy's always been a little pathetic. It might as well be his middle name.

So he goes back, and he waits. By the time Jason is done his shift, Roy is sitting on the edge of the curb outside the venue, knees up with his arms around them, chin resting on his forearm, green hoodie pulled up over his hands, hood over his head - nowhere near enough to keep anyone warm on a night like this - staring kind of blankly into the street. Waiting.]

[bamboozlement]

[And here Jason thought he’d been crystal-clear during his exit that he was the one who wasn’t good enough for Roy, not the other way around. I’m never going to be the hero you want me to be. If he knew Roy’s thoughts on the subject - well, he’d be irritated with himself for mucking up but entirely unsurprised.

Roy’s reaction stays with Jason throughout the rest of his shift that night, the words knocking around in his mind like the steel sphere in a pinball game. I really thought we were starting to get close again, and it’s the again that keeps tripping Jason up. What does that mean?

Jason’s still puzzling it over by the time he leaves the club, and while he can’t discern the identity of the figure huddled on the sidewalk with absolute certainty, he knows Roy well enough to guess it’s him.]

If you were planning on jumping me, you might wanna work on your stealth a bit.

[It’s a shitty joke, but shitty jokes are how Jason deals with uncomfortable situations, when he can’t punch his way out - and he’d rather not resort to fisticuffs with Roy right now. Jason’s clearly caused him more than enough pain as it is, though he’s fuzzy on the exact nature of what that cause is.

He won’t get answers by staring at the back of Roy’s hoodie, though. Jason hesitates, contemplates just leaving again, and decides against it. Roy deserves better than that, and Jason’s curious to uncover the missing piece of this puzzle and discover what he’s done to deserve Roy’s anger - and he doesn’t doubt that he does deserve it. He takes a few steps closer, hands stuffed into jacket pockets - closer, but not too close.]

You ever talk to someone and it feels like you’re having two completely different conversations?

[It’s a sideways admission that he’s missing some pretty essential clues as to what the situation between the two of them here is supposed to be, but it’s the best Jason can do at the moment.]