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

before peter's de-aging plot yes;

[madeupnames]

[The trouble tonight is actually not coming from people getting into the club, but from people across the street — more specifically, it's a highschool student wearing a dingy backpack, getting slowly surrounded by some drunk dudes that had already been thrown out of the party and are looking for trouble.

Peter just holds his hands up and tries vainly to settle this peacefully.]

H-hey, c'mon, I'm just — passing through. Please, I don't want any trouble!

Hey—

[Do you watch this drama unfold, or pop by for a visit, bruh.]

[bamboozlement]

[Yeah, Jason's definitely not just gonna stand idly by and watch a kid get jumped by a pack of goons. The idea hits a bunch of Jason's trigger buttons all at once, and while he's personally done plenty of shitty things in his time, they were all justified in his mind, never enacted against innocent civilians and absolutely never against kids. Some things are just not done. we're not gonna talk about tim drake ok.

It only takes Jason a few quick strides to cross the street. If these dumbasses are looking for trouble, they're about to find it.]

You guys are really failing to comprehend the meaning of the words get lost, aren't you. [He glances to Peter.] These brain donors hassling you?

[madeupnames]

U-uuh... Y-yeah.

[Shoot, this is gonna get violent, isn't it? This is totally gonna get violent.]

I'm sure they're cool with leaving, right gu—

[Most of the group lunge to fight Jason, apparently more confident now that they have even more liquor in them and a few extra fists among them; one stays behind to throw a punch at Peter, too, and before he can even think through it, he's leaning back to sharply dodge the uncoordinated punch.]

Whoawhoawhoa!

[He really doesn't want to go showing off his Spider-Man credentials in front of a stranger!

So he will just.

Dodge.

A lot.

Dodging is a totally normal human thing to do, totally not a superhero prerequisite.]

[bamboozlement]

[There are a few things Jason just flat-out won’t tolerate, and assholes like this screwing with kids - even teenagers who may or may not be able to hold their own in a fistfight - is one of them. It’s probably a good thing Jason isn’t armed tonight, because if he had pistols on him, these mooks would likely end up filled with bullets. This isn’t Gotham, and Jason already gave up on trying to hold up his end of the no-killing deal with Batman.

Even unarmed, Jason’s capable of causing plenty of damage. Unlike Peter, Jason makes no effort to conceal the fact that he has been well-trained in hand-to-hand combat, aiming with fists and feet for areas of maximum pain and injury: knees; throats; eyes. Fighting multiple opponents isn’t ideal, especially with Jason’s own still-healing injuries, but it’s manageable, and Jason has enough strategic sense to try to shut this down fast.]

Kid! Get outta here, I’ve got this.

[He’s taking his fair share of blows from his opponents, too, but they don’t stop him, or even slow him down. He’s definitely experienced with this sort of situation.]

[madeupnames]

[He'd get outta there, but there's something about leaving a dude to take some punches on his behalf that he just doesn't like. He steps back and continues his game of 'surprisingly hard to hit' — up until one of the dudes is pulling out a knife with every intention to use it on this bouncer dude.

Oh, crap.]

Look out!

[Peter aims his webshooter and fires; a thin web wraps its little coiling fingers around the sharp blade and rips it out of his hand. It's dark enough that he hopes none of them really keyed in on that little stunt, as he swipes the legs out from under the offender; the drunk dude slams painfully into the pavement, groaning.]